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t 


HANDY  ANDY 


A Tale  of  Ikish  Life 


BY  SAMUEL  LOVER 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

WM.  L.  ALLISON  COMPANY 

1893 


P/9 

. HSlo% 

)8c/3 


tSKR»* 

u'  02/67 


MAK  5 1 


1986 


address: 


T have  been  accused,  in  certain  quarters,  of  giving  flat- 
tering portraits  of  my  countrymen.  Against  this  charge  I 
may  plead  that,  being  a portrait-painter  by  profession,  the 
habit  of  taking  the  best  view  of  my  subject,  so  long  preva- 
lent in  my  eye,  has  gone  deeper,  and  influenced  my  mind: 
— and  if  to  paint  one*s  country  in  its  gracious  aspect  has 
been  a weakness,  at  least,  to  use  the  words  of  an  illustrious 
compatriot, 

“ the  failing  leans  to  virtue's  side.” 

I am  disinclined,  however,  to  believe  myself  an  offender  in 
this  particular.  That  I love  my  country  dearly  I acknowl- 
edge, and  I am  sure  every  Englishman  will  respect  me  the 
more  for  loving  mine , when  he  is,  with  justice,  proud  of  his 
— but  I repeat  my  disbelief  that  I overrate  my  own. 

The  present  volume,  I hope,  will  disarm  any  cavil  from 
old  quarters  on  the  score  of  national  prejudice.  The  hero 
is  a blundering  fellow  whom  no  English  or  other  gentle- 
man wouIdT  like  to  have  in”  hls^service;  but  still  he  has 
some  redeeming  natural  traits:  he  is  not  made  either  a 
brute  or  a villain;  yet  his  <c  twelve  months*  character/* 
given  in  the  successive  numbers  of  this  volume,  would  not 
get  him  a place  upon  advertisement  either  in  “ The 
Times  **  or  “ The  Chronicle.  **  So  far  am  I clear  of  the 
charge  of  national  prejudice  as  regards  the  hero  of  the  fol- 
lowing pages. 

In  the  subordinate  personages,  the  reader  will  see  two 
“Squires**  of  different  types^good  and  badj^there  are 
Buch  in  all  countries.  And,  as  a tale  can  not  get  on  with- 


n 


ADDRESS. 


out  villains,  I have  given  some  touches  of  villainy,  quite 
sufficient  to  prove  my  belief  in  Irish  villains,  though  I do 
not  wish  it  to  be  believed  that  the  Irish  are  all  villains. 

I confess  I have  attempted  a slight  sketch,  in  one  of  the 
persons  represented,  of  a gentleman  and  a patriot;  and  I 
conceive  there  is  a strong  relationship  between  the  two. 
He  loves  the  land  that  bore  him — and  so  did  most  of  the 
great  spirits  recorded  in  history.  His  own  mental  cultiva- 
tion, while  it  yields  him  personal  enjoyment,  teaches  him 
not  to  treat  with  contumely  inferior  men.  Though  he  has 
courage  to  protect  his  honor,  he  is  not  deficient  in  con- 
science to  feel  for  the  consequences;  and  when  opportunity 
offers  the  means  of  amende , it  is  embraced.  In  a word,  I 
wish  it  to  be  believed  that,  while  there  are  knaves,  and 
fools,  and  villains  in  Ireland — as  in  other  parts  of  the 
world — honest,  intelligent,  and  noble  spirits  are  there  also. 

I can  not  conclude  without  offering  my  sincere  thanks 
for  the  cordial  manner  in  which  my  serial  offering  has  been 
received  by  the  public,  and  noticed  by  the  critical  press, 
whose  valuable  columns  have  been  so  often  opened  to  it  in 
quotation;  and,  when  it  is  considered  how  large  an  amount 
of  intellect  is  employed  in  this  particular  department  of 
literature,  the  highest  names  might  be  proud  of  such  recog- 
nition. 

London , ls£  December,  1842. 

The  reprinting  of  the  foregoing  address,  attached  to  the 
First  Edition,  sufficiently  implies  that  my  feelings  and  opin- 
ions respecting  my  country  and  my  countrymen  remain 
unchanged.  So  far,  enough  said. 

I desire,  however,  to  add  a few  words  to  inform  those 
who  may,  for  the  first  time,  read  the  story  in  this  the 
Fourth  Mitionj_that  the  early  pages  were  written  fifteen 
years  ago,  as  a magazine  article;  that  the  success  of  that 
article  led  to  the  continuation  of  the  subject  in  other  arti- 


ADDRESS. 


vii 

cles,  and  so  on,  till,  eventually,  twelve  monthly  numbers 
made  up  a book.  A story  thus  originated  could  not  be 
other  than  sketchy  and  desultory,  and  open  to  the  cap- 
tiousness of  overfastidious  criticism;  it  was  never  meant 
to  be  a work  of  high  pretension — only  one  of  those  easy 
trifles  which  afford  a laugh,  and  require  to  be  read  in  the 
same  careless  spirit  of  good  humor  in  which  they  are  writ- 
ten. 

In  such  a spirit,  I am  happy  to  say,  cc  Handy  Andy  ” 
was  read  fourteen  years  ago,  and  has  continued  to  be  read 
ever  since;  and  as  this  reprint,  in  a cheaper  form,  will 
open  it  to  thousands  of  fresh  readers,  I give  these  few 
introductory  words  to  propitiate  in  the  future  the  kindly 
spirit  which  I gratefully  remember  in  the  past. 

SAMUEL  LOVER. 

London , $6$-  July , 1854. 


a 


S 


HANDY  ANDY. 


CHAPTER  L 

Akdy  Rocwey  was  a fellow  who  had  the  most  singu- 
larly ingenious  knack  of  doing  everything.„AJis.„Wi^ig^ay; 
disappointment  waited  on  all  alfairs  in  which  he  bore  a 
part,  and  destruction  was  at  his  fingers*  ends;  so  the  nick- 
name the  neighbors  stuck  upon  him  was  Handy  Andy,  and 
the  jeering  jingle  pleased  them. 

Andy*s  entrance  into  this  world  was  quite  in  character 
with  his  after  achievements,  for  he  was  nearly  the  death  of 
his  mother.  She  survived,  however,  to  have  herself  clawed 
almost  to  death  while  her  darling  “ babby  **  was  in  arms, 
for  he  would  not  take  his  nourishment  from  the  parent 
fount  unless  he  had  one  of  his  little  red  fists  twisted  into  his 
mothers  hair,  which  he  dragged  till  he  made  her  roar; 
while  he  diverted  the  pain  by  scratching  her,  till  the 
blood  came,  with  the  other.  Nevertheless,  she  swore  he 
was  “ the  loveliest  and  sweetest  craythur  the  sun  ever 
shined  upon;**  and  when  he  was  able  to  run  about  and 
wield  a little  stick,  and  smash  everything  breakable  belong- 
ing to  her,  she  only  praised  his  precocious  powers,  and  she 
used  to  ask,  “ Did  ever  any  one  see  a darlin*  of  his  age 
handle  a stick  so  bowld  as  he  did?** 

Andy  grew  up  in  mischief  and  the  admiration  of  his 
mammy;  but,  to  do  him  justice,  he  never  meant  harm  in 
the  course  of  his  life,  and  he  was  most  anxious  to  offer  his 
services  on  all  occasions  to  those  who  would  accept  them; 
but  they  were  only  the  persons  who  had  not  already  proved 
Andy*s  peculiar  powers. 

There  was  a farmer  hard  by  in  this  happy  state  of  ig- 
norance, named  Owen  Doyle,  or,  as  he  was  familiarly 
called,  Owny  na  Coppal , or,  “ Owen  of  the  Horses,**  be- 
cause he  bred  many  of  these  animals,  and  sold  them  at  the 


10 


HAND  X AKI)t. 


neighboring  fairs;  and  Andy  one  day  offered  his  services 
to  Owny  when  he  was  in  want  of  some  one  to  drive  up  a 
horse  to  his  house  from  a distant  “ bottom,"  as  low  grounds 
by  a river-side  are  called  in  Ireland.  ^ ~ ~ s 

“ Oh,  he's  wild,  Andy,  and  you'd  never  be  able  to  ketch 
him,"  said  Owny. 

“ Troth,  an'  I'll  engage  I'll  ketch  him  if  you'll  let  me 
go.  I never  seen  the  horse  I couldn't  ketch,  sir/'  said  Andy. 

“ Why,  you  little  spridhogue,  if  he  took  to  runnin'  over 
the  long  bottom,  it  'ud  be  more  than  a day's  work  for  you 
to  folly  him. " 

“ Oh,  but  he  won't  run." 

“ Why  won't  he  run?" 

“ Bekaze  I won't  make  him  run.'* 

“ How  can  you  help  it?" 

“ I'll  soother  him." 

“ Well,  you're  a willin'  brat,  anyhow;  and  so  go  on,  and 
God  speed  you!"  said  Owny. 

“ Just  gi'  me  a wisp  o'  hay  an'  a han'ful  iv  oats,"  said 
Andy,  “ if  I should  have  to  coax  him." 

“ Sartinly,"  said  Owny,  who  entered  the  stable  and 
came  forth  with  the  articles  required  by  Andy,  and  a halter 
for  the  horse  also. 

“ Now,  take  care,"  said  Owny,  “ that  you  are  able  to 
ride  that  horse  if  you  get  on  him." 

“ Oh,  never  fear,  sir.  I can  ride  owld  Lanty  Gubbins' 
mule  betther  nor  any  o'  the  boys  on  the  common,  and  he 
couldn't  throw  me  th'  other  day,  though  he  kicked  the 
shoes  av him." 

“ After  that  you  may  ride  anything,"  said  Owny;  and 
indeed  it  was  true;  for  Lanty' s mule,  which  fed  on  the 
common,  being  ridden  slyly  by  all  the  young  vagabonds  in 
the  neighborhood,  had  become  such  an  adept  in  the  art  of 
getting  rid  of  his  troublesome  customers  that  it  might  well 
be  considered  a feat  to  stick  on  him. 

“ Now  take  great  care  of  him,  Andy,  my  boy,"  said  the 
farmer. 

“ Don't  be  af eared,  sir,"  said  Andy,  who  started  on  his 
errand  in  that  peculiar  pace  which  is  elegantly  called  a 
“ sweep's  trot;"  and  as  the  river  lay  between  Owny  Doyle's 
and  the  bottom,  and  was  too  deep  for  Andy  to  ford  at  that 
feeason,  he  went  round  by  Dinny  Dowling's  mill,  where  a 
small  wooden  bridge  crossed  the  stream. 


HANDY  ANDY'. 


11 


Here  he  thought  he  might  as  well  secure  the  assistance 
of  Paudeen,  the  miller’s  son,  to  help  him  in  catching  the 
horse;  so  he  looked  about  the  place  until  he  found  him, 
and  telling  him  the  errand  on  which  he  was  going,  said, 
“ If  you  like  to  come  wid  me,  we  can  both  have  a ride.” 
This  was  temptation  sufficient  for  Paudeen,  and  the  boys 
proceeded  together  to  the  bottom,  and  they  were  not  long 
in  securing  the  horse.  When  they  had  got  the  halter  over 
his  head,  “ Now,”  said  Andy,  “ give  me  a lift  on  him;” 
and  accordingly,  by  Paudeen’ s catching  Andy’s  left  foot  in 
both  his  hands  clasped  together  in  the  fashion  of  a stirrup, 
he  hoisted  his  friend  on  the  horse’s  back;  and  as  soon  as 
he  was  secure  there,  Master  Paudeen,  by  the  aid  of  Andy’s 
hand,  contrived  to  scramble  up  after  him;  upon  which 
Andy  applied  his  heel  to  the  horse’s  side  with  many  vig- 
orous kicks,  and  crying  “ lmrrup!”  at  the  same  time,  en- 
deavored to  stimulate  Owny’s  steed  into  something  of  a 
pace  as  he  turned  his  head  toward  the  mill. 

66  Sure  arn’t  you  going  to  crass  the  river?”  said  Paudeen. 
“ No,  I’m  going  to  lave  you  at  home.” 

“ Oh,  I’d  rather  go  up  to  Owny’s,  and  it’s  the  shortest 
way  acrassthe  river.” 

“ Yes,  but  I don’t  like.” 

“ Is  it  afeared  that  you  are?”  said  Paudeen. 

“ Not  I,  indeed!”  said  Andy;  though  it  was  really  the 
fact,  for  the  width  of  the  stream  startled  him,  6 4 but  Ovvny 
told  me  to  take  grate  care  o’  the  baste,  and  I’m  loath  to 
Wet  his  feet.” 

“ Go  ’long  wid  you,  you  fool!  what  harm  would  it  do 
him?  Sure  he’s  neither  sugar  nor  salt  that  he’d  melt.” 

“ Well,  I won’t,  anyhow,”  said  Andy,  who  by  this  time 
had  got  the  horse  into  a good  high  trot,  that  shook  every 
word  of  argument  out  of  Paudeen’s  body;  besides,  it  was 
as  much  as  the  boys  could  do  to  keep  their  seats  on  Owny’s 
Bucephalus,  who  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  miller’s 
bridge.  Here  voice  and  halter  were  employed  to  pull  him 
in,  that  he  might  cross  the  narrow  wooden  structure  at  a 
quiet  pace.  But  whether  his  double  load  had  given  him 
the  idea  of  double  exertion,  or  that  the  pair  of  legs  on  each 
side  sticking  into  his  flanks  (and  perhaps  the  horse  was 
ticklish)  made  him  go  the  faster,  we  know  not;  but  the 
horse  charged  the  bridge  as  if  an  Enniskillener  were  on  his 
back,  and  an  enemy  before  him;  and  in  two  minutes  his 


12 


HANDY  AND¥. 


hoofs  clattered  like  thunder  on  the  bridge,,  that  did  not 
bend  beneath  him.  No , it  did  not  bend,  but  it  broke; 
proving  the  falsehood  of  the  boast,  “ I may  break,  but  I 
won't  bend;"  for,  after  all,  the  really  strong  may  bend, 
and  be  as  strong  as  ever;  it  is  the  unsound  that  has  only 
the  seeming  of  strength,  which  breaks  at  last  when  it  re- 
sists too  long. 

Surprising  was  the  spin  the  young  equestrians  took  over 
the  ears  of  the  horse,  enough  to  make  all  the  artists  of  Ash- 
ley's envious;  and  plump  they  went  into  the  river,  where 
each  formed  his  own  ring,  and  executed  some  comical 
“ scenes  in  the  circle,"  which  were  suddenly  changed  to 
Evolutions  on  the  “ flying  cord  " that  Dinny  Dowling  threw 
to  the  performers,  which  became  suddenly  converted  into 
a “ tight  rope,"  as  he  dragged  the  voltigeurs  out  of  the 
Water;  and  for  fear  their  blood  might  be  chilled  by  the 
accident,  he  gave  them  an  enormous  thrashing  with  a dry 
End  of  the  rope,  just  to  restore  circulation;  and  his  exer- 
tions, had  they  been  witnessed,  would  have  charmed  the 
Humane  Society. 

As  for  the  horse,  his  legs  stuck  through  the  bridge,  as 
though  he  had  been  put  in  a chiroplast,  and  he  went  play- 
ing away  on  the  water  with  considerable  execution,  as  if  he 
Were  accompanying  himself  in  the  song  which  he  was 
squealing  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Half  the  saws,  hatchets, 
ropes,  and  poles  in  the  parish  were  put  in  requisition  im- 
mediately, and  the  horse's  first  lesson  in  chiroplastic  exer- 
cise was  performed  with  no  other  loss  than  some  skin  and 
a good  deal  of  hair.  Of  course  Andy  did  not  venture  on 
taking  0 wily's  horse  home;  so  the  miller  sent  him  to  his 
owner,  with  an  account  nf  „Jha^Mcident.  Andy  for  years 
kept  out  of  Owny  na  Coppal's  way;  and.  at  any  time  that 
his  presence  was  troublesome,  the  inconvenienced  party 
had  only  to  say,  “ Isn't  that  Owny  na  Coppal  coming  this 
way?"  and  Andy  fled  for  his  life. 

When  Andy  grew  up  to  be  what  in  country  parlance  is 
called  “ a brave  lump  of  a boy,"  his  mother  thought  he 
was  old  enough  to  do  some  tiring  for  himself;  so  she  took 
him  one  day  along  with  her  to  the  Squire's,  and  waited  out- 
side the  door,  loitering  up  and  dowrc~thO''yard  behind  the 
house,  among  a crowd  of  beggars  and  great  lazy  dogs,  that 
were  thrusting  their  heads  info  every  iron  pot  that  stood 
outside  the  kitchen  door,  until  chance  might  give  her  “ a 


HANDY  ANDY. 


13 


# 


sight  o * the  Squire  afore  he  wint  out,  or  afore  he  wint  ik;** 
and  after  spending  her  entire  day  in  this  idle  way,  at  last 
the  Squire  made  his  appearance,  and  Judy  presented  her 
son,  who  kept  scraping  his  foot,  and  pulling  his  forelock, 
that  stuck  out  like  a piece  of  ragged  thatch  from  his  fore-* 
head,  making  his  obeisance  to  the  Squire,  while  his  mother 
was  sounding  his  praises  for  being  the  “ handiest  craythur 
alive — and  so  willin* — nothin*  comes  wrong  to  him.** 

“ I suppose  the  English  j^QllJbhis  is,  you  want  me  to 
take  him?**  said  the  Squire. 

“ Troth,  an*  your  honor,  that*s  just  it — if  your  honor 
would  be  plazed.  ** 

“ What  can  he  do?** 

“ Anything,  your  honor.** 

“ That  means  nothing,  I suppose,**  said  the  Squire. 

“ Oh,  no,  sir.  Everything,  I mane,  that  you  would  de- 
sire him  to  do.** 

To  every  one  of  these  assurances  on  his  mother  *s  part 
Andy  made  a bow  and  a scrape. 

“ Can  he  take  care  of  horses?** 

“ The  best  of  care,  sir,**  said  the  mother;  while  the  mill- 
er who  was  standing  behind  the  Squire,  waiting  for  orders, 
made  a grimace  at  Andy,  who  was  obliged  to  cram  his  face 
into  his  hat  to  hide  the  laugh,  which  he  could  hardly 
smother  from  being  heard,  as  well  as  seen. 

‘ ‘ Let  him  come,  then,  and  help  in  the  stables,  and  we*ll 
see  what  he  can  do.** 

“ May  the  Lord — ** 

“ That*  11  do — there,  now  go.** 

“ Oh,  sure,  but  1*11  pray  for  you,  and — ** 

“ Will  you  go?** 

“ And  may  the  angels  make  yourhonor*s  bed  this  blessed 
night,  I pray.  ** 

“ If  you  don*t  go,  your  son  sha*n*t  come.  ** 

Judy  and  her  hopeful  boy  turned  to  the  right  about  in 
double-quick  time,  and  hurried  down  the  avenue. 

The  next  day  Andy  was  duly  installed  into  his  office  of 
stable-helper,  .andj  , as  he  was  a^  good  rider,  he  was  soon 
made  whipper-in  to  tlief  bounds,  for^thera  was  a want  of 
such  a functionary  in  the  establishment;  and  Andy*s  bold- 
ness in  this  capacity  soon  made  him  a favorite  with  the 
Squire,  who  was  one  of  those  rollicking  boys  on  the  pattern 
of  the  old  school,  who  scorned  the  attentions  of  a regular 


14 


HANDY  ANDY. 


valet,  and  let  any  one  that  chance  threw  in  his  way  bring 
him  his  boots,  or  his  hot  water  for  shaving,  or  his  coat, 
whenever  it  was  brushed.  One  morning,  Andy,  who  was 
very  often  the  attendant  on  such  occasions,  came  to  his 
room  with  hot  water.  He  tapped  at  the  door. 

“ Who’s  that?”  said  the  Squire,  who  had  just  risen,  and 
did  not  know  but  it  might  be  one  of  the  women  servants. 

“ It's  me,  sir.” 

“ Oh — Andy!  Come  in.” 

“Here’s  the  hot  water,  sir,”  said  Andy,  bearing  an 
enormous  tin  can. 

“ Why,  what  the  d — 1 brings  that  enormous  tin  can 
here?  You  might  as  well  bring  the  stable  bucket.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir,”  said  Andy,  retreating.  In 
two  minutes  more  Andy  came  back,  and,  tapping  at  the 
door,  put  in  his  head  cautiously,  and  said,  “ The  maids  in 
the  kitchen,  your  honor,  says  there’s  not  so  much  hot 
water  ready.” 

“ Did  I not  see  it  a moment  since  in  your  hand?” 

“ Yes,  sir;  but  that’s  not  the  full  o’  the  stable  bucket. ” 
“ Go  along,  you  stupid  thief!  and  get  me  some  hot  water 
directly.” 

“ Will  the  can  do,  sir?” 

“ Ay,  anything,  so  you  make  haste.” 

Off  posted  Andy,  and  back  he  came  with  the  can. 

“ Where’ll  I put  it,  sir?” 

“ Throw  this  out,”  said  the  Squire,  handing  Andy  a jug 
containing  some  cold  water,  meaning  the  jug  to  be  replen- 
ished with  the  hot. 

Andy  took  the  jug,  and  the  winjdow-of^he^DOin  being 
open,  he  very  deliberately  threw  the  jug  out.  The  Squire 
stared  with  wonder,  and  at  last  said — 

“ What  did  you  do  that  for?” 

“ Sure  you  towld  me  to  throw  it  out,  sir.” 

“ Go  out  of  this,  you  thick-headed_vi|lain!”  said  the 
squire,  throwing  his  boots  at  Andy’s  head,  along  with  some 
very  neat  curses.  Andy  retreated,  and  thought  himself  a 
very  ill-  used  person. 

Though  Andy’s  regular  business  was  “ whipper-in/’  yet 
he  was  liable  to  be  called  on  for  the  performance  of  various 
other  duties:  he  sometimes  attended  at  table  when  the 
number  of  guests  required  that  all  the  subs  should  be  put 
in  requisition,  or  rode  on  some  distant  errand  for  the  “ mis' 


HANDY  ANDY. 


13 


tress/’  or  drove  out  the  nurse  and  children  on  the  jaunt- 
ing-car; and  many  were  the  mistakes,  delays,  or  accidents, 
arising  from  Handy  Andy's  interference  in  such  matters* 
but  as  they  were,  seldom  serious,  and  generally  laughable, 
they  never  cost  him  the  loss  of  his  place,  or  the  Squire's 
favor,  who  rather  enjoyed  Andy's  blunders. 

The  first  time  Andy  was  admitted  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  dining-room,  great  was  his  wonder.  The  butler  took 
him  in  to  give  him  some  previous  instructions,  and  Andy 
was  so  lost  in  admiration  at  the  sight  of  the  assembled 
glass  and  plate,  that  he  stood  with  his  mouth  and  eyes  wide 
open,  and  scarcely  heard  a word  that  was  said  to  him. 
After  the  head  man  had  been  dinning  his  instructions  into 
him  for  some  time,  he  said  he  might  go,  until  his  attends 
ance  was  required.  But  Andy  moved  not;  he  stood  with 
his  eyes  fixed  by  a sort  of  fascination  on  some  object  that 
seemed  to  rivet  them  with  the  same  unaccountable  influence 
which  the  rattlesnake  exercises  over  its  victim. 

“ What  are  you  looking  at?"  said  the  butler. 

“ Them  things,"  said  Andy,  pointing  to  some  silver 
forks. 

“ Is  it  the  forks?"  said  the  butler. 

“ Oh,  no,  sir!  I know  what  forks  is  very  well;  but  I 
never  seen  them  things  afore." 

“ What  things  do  you  mean?" 

“ These  things,  sir,"  said  Andy,  taking  up  one  of  the 
silver  forks,  and  turning  it  round  and  round  in  his  hand  in 
utter  astonishment,  while  the  butler  grinned  at  his  igno- 
rance, and  enjoyed  his  own  superior  knowledge. 

“ Well!"  said  Andy,  after  a long  pause,  “ the  devil  be 
from  me  if  ever  I seen  a silver  spoon  split  that  way  before!" 

The  butler  gave  a horseTaugi^and  made  a standing  joke 
of  Andy's  split  spoon;  but  time  and  experience  made  Andy 
less  impressed  with  wonder  at  the  show  of  plate  and  glass, 
and  the  split  spoons  became  familiar  as  “ household  words  " 
to  him;  yet  still  there  were  things  in  the  duties  of  table 
attendance  beyond  Andy's  comprehension — he  used  to  hand 
cold  plates  for  fish,  and  hot  plates  for  jelly,  etc.  But 
“one  day,"  as  Zanga  says — “ one  day  " he  was  thrown  off 
his  center  in  a remarkable  degree  by  a bottle  of  soda-water. 

It  was  when  that  combustible  was  first  introduced  into 
Ireland  as  a dinner  beverage  that  the  occurrence  took  place. 


16 


HA^DT  AKDY. 


and  Andy  had  the  lnck  to  be  the  person  to  whom  a gentle- 
man applied  for  some  soda-water. 

“ Sir?”  said  Andy. 

“ Soda-water,”  said  the  guest,  in  that  subdued  tone  in 
which  people  are  apt  to  name  their  wants  at  a dinner-table. 
Andy  went  to  the  butler.  “ Mr.  Morgan,  there's  a gintle- 
man — ' ' 

“ Let  me  alone,  will  you?”  said  Mr.  Morgan. 

Andy  maneuvered  round  him  a little  longer,  and  again 
essayed  to  be  heard. 

“ Mr.  Morgan!” 

“ Don't  you  see  I'm  as  busy  as  I can  be?  Can't  you  do 
it  yourself?” 

“ I dunna  what  he  wants.” 

“ Well,  go  and  ax  him,”  said  Mr.  Morgan. 

Andy  went  off  as  he  was  bidden,  and  came  behind  the 
gentleman's  chair,  with,  “ I beg  your  pardon,  sir.” 

“ Well!''  said  the  gentleman. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir;  but  what's  this  you  axed  me 
for?'' 

“ Soda-water." 

“ What,  sir?" 

“ Soda-water;  but,  perhaps  you  have  not  any.” 

“ Oh,  there's  plenty jn  the  house,  sir!  Would  you  like 
it  hot,  sir?” 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and  supposing  the  new  fashion 
was  not  understood  in  the  present  company,  said,  “ Never 
mind.  ” 

But  Andy  was  too  anxious  to  please  to  be  so  satisfied, 
and  again  applied  to  Mr.  Morgan. 

“ Sir!”  said  he. 

“ Bad  luck  to  you!  can't  you  let  me  alone?” 

“ There's  a gintleman  want's  some  soap  and  wather.” 

“ Some  what?'' 

“ Soap  and  wather,  sir." 

“ Divil  sweep  you!  Soda-wather  you  mane.  You'll  get 
it  under  the  side-board.” 

“ Is  it  in  the  can,  sir?” 

“ The  curse  o'  CrnmTLon  you!  in  the  bottles.” 

“ Is  this  it,  sir?”  said  Andy  producing  a bottle  of  ale. 

“ No,  bad  cess  to  you!  the  little  bottles." 

“ Is  it  the  little  bottles  with  no  bottoms,  sir?" 

“ I wish  you  wor  in  the  bottom  o'  the  say!”  said  Mr. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


17 


Morgan,  who  was  fuming  and  puffing,  and  rubbing  down 
his  face  with  a napkin,  as  he  v as  hurrying  to  all  quarters 
of  the  room,  or,  as  Andy  said,  in  praising  his  activity,  that 
he  was  “ like  bad  luck-~^yexv3vhere^^ 

“ There  they  are! ''  said  Mr.  Morgan  at  last. 

“ Oh,  them  bottles  that  won't  stand,"  said  Andy;  “ sure 
themes  what  I said,  with  no  bottoms  to  them.  “ Howell  I 
Open  it?  it's  tied  down. '' 

“ Cut  the  cord,  you  fool!” 

Andy  did  as  he  was  desired;  and  he  happened  at  the 
time  to  hold  the  bottle  of  soda-water  on  a level  with  the 
candles  that  shed  light  over-4he-4egtive  board  from  a large 
silver  branch,  and  the  moment  he  made  the  incision,  bang 
went  the  bottle  of  soda,  knocking  out  two  of  the  lights  with 
the  projected  cork,  which,  performing  its  parabola  the 
length  of  the  room,  struck  the  Squire  himself  in  the  eye  at 
the  foot  of  the  table:  while  the  hostess'at’  the  head  had  a 
cold  bath  down  her  back.  Andy,  when  he  saw  the  soda- 
water  jumping  out  of  the  bottle,  held  it  from  him  at  arm's- 
length;  every  fizz  it  made,  exclaiming,  “ Owl — ow! — ow!'} 
amd,  at  last,  when  the  bottle  was  empty,  he  roared  out, 
“ Oh,  Lord!  it's  all  gone!" 

Great  was  the  commotion;  few  could  resist  laughter  ex- 
cept the  ladies,  who  all  looked  at  their  gowns,  not  liking 
the  mixture  of  satin  and  soda-water.  The  extinguished 
candles  were  relighted — the  Squire  got  his  eye  open  again 
— and  the  next  time  he  perceived  the  butler  sufficiently 
near  to  speak  to  him,  he  said  in  a low  and  hurried  tone  of 
deep  anger,  while  he  knit  his  brow,  “ Send  that  fellow  out 
of  the  room!"  but,  within  the  same  instant,  resumed  his 
former  smile,  that  beamed  on  all  around  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

Andy  was  expelled  the  salle  a manger  in  disgrace,  and 
for  days  kept  out  of  the  master's  and  mistress'  way:  in 
the  meantime  the  butler  made  a good  story  of  the  thing  in 
the  servants'  hall;  and,  when  he  held  up  Andy's  ignorance 
to  ridicule,  by  telling  how  he  asked  for  “ soap  and  water/ 3 
Andy  was  given  the  name  of  “ Suds,"  and  was  called  by 
no  other  for  months  after. 

But,  though  Andy's  functions  in  the  interior  were  sus- 
pended, his  services  in  out-of-door  affairs  were  occasionally 
put  in  requisition.  But  here  his  evil  genius  still  haunted 
him,  and  he  put  his  foot  in  a piece  of  business  his  master 


18 


HANDY  ANDY. 


sent  him  upon  one  day,  which  was  so  simple  as  to  defy 
almost  the  chance  of  Andy  making  any  mistake  about  it; 
but  Andy  was  very  ingenious  in  his  own  particular  line. 

“ Eide  into  the  town  and  see  if  there ’s  a letter  for  me/'* 
said  the  Squire  one  day  to  our  hero. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ You  know  where  to  go?” 

“ To  the  town,  sir.  ” 


“ But  do  you  know  where  to  go  in  the  town?” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ And  why  don’t  you  ask,  you  stupid  thief?” 

“ Sure  Ed  find  out,  sir.  ” 

“ Didn’t  I often  tell  you  to  ask  what  you’re  to  do,  when 
you  don’t  know?” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ And  why  don’t  you?” 

“ I don’t  like  to  be  throublesome,  sir.” 

“ Confound  you!”  said  the  Squire;  though  he  could  not 
help  laughing  at  Andy’s  excuse  for  remaining  in  ignorance. 

“ Well,”  continued  he,  “ go  to  the  post-office.  You 
know  the  post-office,  I suppose?” 

“ Yes,  sir,  where  they  sell  gunpowder/’ 

“ You’re  right  for  once,”  said  the  Squire;  for  his  Map 
esty’s  postmaster  was  the  person  who  had  the  privilege  of 
dealing  in  the  aforesaid  combustible.  “ Go  then  to  the 
post-office,  and  ask  for  a letter  for  me.  Eemember — not 
gunpowder,  but  a letter.” 

“ Yis,  sir,”  said  Andy,  who  got  astride  of  his  hack,  and 
trotted  away  to  the  post-office.  On  arriving  at  the  shop  of 
the  postmaster  (for  that  person  carried  on  a brisk  trade  in 
groceries,  gimlets,  broadcloth,  and  linen -drapery),  Andy 
presented  himself  at  the  counter,  and  said,  “ I want  a let- 
ther,  sir,  if  you  plaze.” 

“ Who  do  you  want  it  for?”  said  the  postmaster,  in  a 
tone  which  Andy  considered  an  aggression  upon  the  sacred- 
ness of  private  life:  so  Andy  thought  the  coolest  contempt 
he  could  throw  upon  the  prying  impertinence  of  the  post- 
master was  to  repeat  his  question. 

“ I want  a letther,  sir,  if  you  plaze.” 

“ And  who  do  you  want  it  for?”  repeated  the  postmaster*, 
“ What’s  that  to  you?”  said  Andy. 

The  postmaster,  laughing  at  his  simplicity,  told  him  he 


HANDY  ANDY. 


19 


could  not  tell  wliat  letter  to  give  him  unless  he  told  him  the 
direction. 

“ The  directions  I got  was  to  get  a letther  here — that's 
the  directions." 

“ Who  gave  you  those  directions?" 

“ The  masther." 

“ And  who's  your  master?" 

“ Wia^onsarn  is  that  o'  yours?" 

“ "Why,  you^tu|Fi3"rascal!  if  you  cToh't  tell  me  his  name, 
how  can  I give  you  a letter?" 

“You  could  give  it  if  you  liked:  but  you're  fond  of 
axin'  impident  questions,  bekase  you  think  I'm  simple." 

“ Go  along  out  o'  this!  Your  master  must  be  as  great 
a goose  as  yourself,  to  send  such  a messenger." 

“Bad  luck  to  your  impidence,"  said  Andy;  “is  it 
Squire  Egan  you  dare  to  say  goose  to?" 

“ Oh,  Squire  Egan's  your  master,  then?" 

“ Yes,  have  you  anything  to  say  agin  it?" 

“ Only  that  I never  saw  you  before." 

“ Faith,  then,  you'll  never  see  me  agin  if  I have  my  own 
consint." 

“ I won't  give  you  any  letter  for  the  Squire,  unless  I 
know  you're  his  servant.  Is  there  any  one  in  the  town 
knows  you?" 

“ Plenty,"  said  Andy,  “ it's  not  every  one  is  as  igno- 
rant as  you. " ' ' — - — 

Just  at  this  moment  a person  to  whom  Andy  was  known 
entered  the  house,  who  vouched  to  the  postmaster  that  he 
might  give  Andy  the  Squire's  letter.  “ Have  you  one  for 
me?" 

“ Yes,  sir,"  said  the  postmaster,  producing  one — “ four- 
pence." 

The  gentleman  paid  the  fourpence  postage,  and  left  the 
shop  with  his  letter. 

“ Here's  a letter  for  the  Squire,"  said  the  postmaster; 
u you've  to  pay  me  elevenpence  postage." 

“ What  'ud  I pay  elevenpence  for?" 

“ For  postage." 

“ To  the  devil  wid  you!  Didn't  I see  you  give  Mr. 
Durfy  a letther  for  fourpence  this  minit,  and  a bigger  let 
ther  than  this?  and  now  you  want  me  to  pay  elevenpence 
for  this  scrap  of  a thing.  l)o  you  think  Fm  a fool?" 

“ No;  but  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  postmaster. 


20 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Well,  you’re  welkum  to  be  sure,  sure — but  don’t  be 
delayin’  me  now:  here’s  fourpence  for  you,  and  gi’  me  the 
letther.  ’ ’ x 

“ Go  along,  you  stupid  thief!”  said  the  postmaster,  tak- 
ing up  the  letter,  and  going  to  serve  a customer  with  a 
mouse-trap. 

While  this  person  and  many  others  were  served,  Andy 
lounged  up  and  down  the  shop,  every  now  and  then  putting 
in  his  head  in  the  middle  of  the  customers,  and  saying, 
“ Will  you  gi’  me  the  letther?” 

He  waited  for  above  half  an  hour,  in  defiance  of  the 
anathemas  of  the  postmaster,  and  at  last  left,  when  he  found 
it  impossible  to  get  common  justice  for  his  master,  which  he 
thought  he  deserved  as  well  as  another  man;  for,  under 
this  impression,  Andy  determined  to  give  no  more  than  the 
fourpence. 

The  Squire  in  the  meantime  was  getting  impatient  for 
his  return,  and  when  Andy  made  his  appearance,  asked  if 
there  was  a letter  for  him. 

“ There  is,  sir,”  said  Andy. 

“ Then  give  it  to  me.” 

“ I haven’t  it,  sir.” 

“ What  do  you  mean?” 

“ He  wouldn’t  give  it  to  me,  sir.” 

“ Who  wouldn’t  give  it  you?” 

“ That  owld  chate  bey  ant  in  the  town — wanting  to 
charge  double  for  it.” 

“ May  be  it’s  a double  letter.  Why  the  devil  didn’t  you 
pay  what  he  asked,  sir?” 

“ Arrah,  sir,  why  should  I let  you  be  chated?  It’s  not 
a double  letther  at  all:  not  above  half  the  size  o’  one  Mr. 
Durfy  got  before  my  face  for  fourpence.” 

“ You’ll  provoke  me  to  break  your  neck  some  day,  you 
vagabond!  Eide  back  for  your  life,  you  omadhaun;  and 
pay  whatever  he  asks,  and  get  me  the  letter.”^ 

“ Why,  sir,  I tell  you  he  was  sellin’  them  before  my  face 
for  fourpence  apiece.  ” 

“ Go  back,  you  scoundrel!  or  I’ll  horsewhip  you;  and  if 
you’re  longer  than  an  hour.  I’ll  have  you  ducked  in  the 
horse-pond!” 

Andy  vanished,  and  made  a second  visit  to  the  post-office. 
When  he  arrived,  two  other  persons  were  getting  letters, 


HANDY  ANDY. 


21 


and  the  postmaster  was  selecting  the  epistles  for  each,  from 
a large  parcel  that  lay  before  him  on  the  counter;  at  the 
same  time  many  shop  customers  were  waiting  to  be  served.. 
‘ ‘ Pm  come  for  that  letther,”  said  Andy. 

“Ill-  attend  to  you  by  and  by.  ” 

“ The  masther’s  in  a hurry. ” 

“ Let  him  wait  till  his  hurry’s  over.” 

“ HeTl  murther  me  if  I’m  not  back  soon.  ” 

“ I’m  glad  to  hear  it.  ” 

While  the  postmaster  went  on  with  such  provoking  an- 
swers to  these  appeals  for  dispatch,  Andy’s  eye  caught  the 
heap  of  letters  which  lay  on  the  counter:  so  while  certain 
weighing  of  soap  and  tobacco  was  going  forward,  he  con- 
trived to  become  possessed  of  two^lehters  f rom  the  heap, 
and,  having  effected  that,  waited  patiently  ehouglTtill  it 
was  the  great  man’s  pleasure  to  give  him  the  missive  di- 
rected to  his  master. 

Then  did  Andy  bestride  his  hack,  and  in  triumph  at  his 
trick  on  the^postmaster,  rattled  along  the  road  homeward  as 
fast  as  the  beast  couldcarry  hirnT  Tie  came  into  the 
Squire’s  presence,  his  face  beaming  with  delight,  and  an  air 
of  self-satisfied  superiority  in  his  manner,  quite  unaccount- 
able to  his  master,  until  he  pulled  forth  his  hand,  which 
had  been  grubbing  up  his  prizes  from  the  bottom  of  his 
pocket;  and  holding  three  letters  over  his  head,  while  he 
said,  “ Look  at  that!”  he  next  slapped  them  down  under 
his  broad  fist  on  the  table  before  the  Squire,  saying — 

“ Well!  if  he  did  make-.me..payi^leyenpence,  by  gor,  I 
brought  your  honor  the  worth  o’  your  money  anyhow!” 


CHAPTER  II. 

Andy  walked  out  of  the  room  with  an  air  of  supreme 
triumph,  having  laid  the  letters  on  the  table,  and  left  the 
Squire  staring  after  him  in  perfect  amazement. 

“ Well,  by  the  powers!  that’s  the  most  extraordinary 
genius  I ever  came  across,”  was  the  soliloquy  the  master 
uttered  as  the  servant  closed  the  door  after  him;  and  the 
Squire  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter  that  Andy’s  blundering 
had  so  long  delayed.  It  was  from  his  law-agent  on  the  sub- 
ject of  an  expected  election  in  the  county,  which  would  oc- 


• fiAOT x Aicrr. 

cur  in  case  of  the  demise  of  the  then  sitting  member— it 
fan  thus: 

“ Dublin , Thursday . 

“ My  dear  Squire, — I am  making  all  possible  exer* 
tions  to  have  every  and  the  earliest  information  on  the  sub* 
ject  of  the  election.  I say  the  election — because,  though 
the  seat  of  the  county  is  not  yet  vacant,  it  is  impossible  but 
that  it  must  soon  be  so.  Any  other  man  than  the  present 
member  must  have  died  long  ago;  but  Sir  Timothy  Trim- 
mer has  been  so  undecided  all  his  life  that  he  can  not  at 
present  make  up  his  mind  to  die;  and  it  is  only  by  death 
himself  giving  the  casting  vote  that  the  question  can  be 
decided.  The  writ  for  the  vacant  county  is  expected  to 
arrive  by  every  mail,  and  in  the  meantime  I am  on  the  alert 
for  information.  You  know  we  are  sure  of  the  barony  of 
Ballysloughgutthery,  and  the  boys  of  Killanmaul  will  mur- 
der any  one  that  dares  to  give  a vote  against  you.  We  ar§ 
sure  of  Knockdoughty,  also,  and  the  very  pigs  in  Glana- 
muck  would  return  you;  but  I must  put  you  on  your  guard 
on  one  point  where  you  least  expected  to  be  betrayed.  You 
told  me  you  were  sure  of  Yeck-or-nothing  Hall;  but  I can 
tell  you  you're  out  there;  for  the  master  of  the  aforesaid  is 
working  heaven,  earth,  ocean,  and  all  the  little  fishes,  in 
the  other  interest;  for  he  is  so  over  head  and  ears  in  debt, 
that  he  is  looking  out  for  a pension,  and  hopes  to  get  one 
by  giving  his  interest  to  the  Honorable  Sackville  Scatter- 
brain, who  sits  for  the  Borough  of  Old  Goosebery  at  pres- 
ent, but  whose  friends  think  his  talents  are  worthy  of  a 
county.  If  Sack  wins,  Neck-or-nothing  gets  a pension — 
that's  poz.  I had  it  from  the  best  authority.  I lodge  at 
a milliner's  here — no  matter;  more  when  I see  you.  But 
don't  be  afraid;  we'll  bag  Sack,  and  distance  Neck-or- 
nothing.  But,  seriously  speaking,  it's  too  good  a joke  that 
O'Grady  should  use  you  in  this  manner,  who  have  been  so 
kind  to  him  in  money  matters:  but,  as  the  old  song  says, 

‘ Poverty  parts  good  company;'  and  he  is  so  cursed  poor 
that  he  can't  afford  to  know  you  any  longer,  now  that 
you  have  lent  him  all  the  money  you  had,  and  the  pension 
in  prospectu  is  too  much  for  his  feelings.  I'll  be  down  with 
you  again  as  soon  as  I can,  for  I hate  the  diabolical  town 
as  I do  poison.  They  have  altered  Stephen's  Green — 
ruined  it  I should  say.  They  have  taken  away  the  big 
ditch  that  was  round  it,  where  I used  to  hunt  water-rats 


HAHDY  AHDY. 


29 

when  a boy.  They  are  destroying  the  place  with  theii 

d d improvements.  All  the  dogs  are  well,  I hope,  and 

my  favorite  bitch.  Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Egan,  whom 
all  admire. 

“ My  dear  squire,  yours  per  quire, 

“ Murtough  Murphy. 

€€  To  Edward  Egan , Esq.,  Merry  vale.” 

Murtough  Murphy  was  a great  character,  as  may  be 
guessed  from  his  letter.  He  was  a country  attorney  of 
good  practice;  good,  because  he  could  not  help  it — for  he 
was  a clever,  ready-witted  fellow  up  to  all  sorts  of  trap,  and 
one  in  whose  hands  a cause  was  very  safe;  therefore  he 
had  plenty  of  clients  without  his  seeking  them.  Eor  if 
Murtough’s  practice  had  depended  on  his  looking  for  it, 
he  might  have  made  broth  of  his  own  parchment;  for 
though  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a good  attorney,  he  was 
so  full  of  fun  and  fond  of  amusement,  that  it  was  only  by 
dint  of  the  business  being  thrust  upon  him  he  was  so  ex^ 
tensive  a practitioner.  He  lovexL^  good  bottle,  a good 
hunt,  a good  joke,  and  a good  song,  as  well  as  any  fellow 
in  Ireland^jmd  even  when  he  was  “obliged  in  the  way  of 
business  to  press  a gentleman  hard— to  hunt  his  man  to 
the  death — he  did  it  so  good-humoredly  that  his  very 
victim  could  not  be  angry  with  him.  As  for  those  hq 
served,  he  was  their  prime  favorite;  there  was  nothing 
they  could  want  to  be  done  in  the  parchment  line  that 
Murtough  would  not  find  out  some  way  of  doing;  and  hq 
was  so  pleasant  a fellow,  that  he  shared  in  the  hospitality 
of  all  the  best  tables  in  the  county.  He  kept  good  Horses, 
was  on  every  race-ground  within  twenty  miles,  and  a 
steeple-chase  was  no  steeple-chase  without  him.  Then  he 
betted  freely,  and,  what’s  more,  won  his  bets  very  gen- 
erally; but  no  one  found  fault  with  him  for  that,  and  he 
took  your  money  with  such  a good  grace,  and  mostly  gave 
you  a ion  mot  in  exchange  for  it — so  that,  next  to  winning 
the  money  yourself,  you  were  glad  it  was  won  by  Murtough 
Murphy. 

The  Squire  read  his  letter  two  or  three  times,  and  made 
his  comments  as  he  proceeded.  “ ‘ Working  heaven  and 
6arth  to 9 — ha! — so  that’s  the  work  O’ Grady’s  at — that’s  old 
friendship — foul! — foul!  and  after  all  the  money  I lent 
him,  too; — he’d  better  take  care — I’ll  be  down  on  him  if 


HANDY  ANDY* 


2* 

he  plays  false; — not  that  I'd  like  that  much  either: — but— 
let's  see  who's  this  coming  down  to  oppose  me? — Sack 
Scatterbrain — the  biggest  fool  from  this  to  himself; — the 
fellow  can't  ride  a bit — a pretty  member  for  a sporting 
county!  6 1 lodge  at  a milliner's' — diyil  doubt  you,  Mur- 
tough;  I'll  engage  you  do.  Bad  luck  to  him! — he'd  rather 
be  fooling  away  his  time  in  a back  parlor,  behind  a bonnet 
shop,  than  minding  the  interests  of  the  county.  6 Pension ' 
—ha! — wants  it  sure  enough; — take  care.  O' Grady,  or,  by 
the  powers.  I'll  be  at  you.  You  may  balk  all  the  bailiffs, 
and  defy  any  other  man  to  serve  you  with  a writ;  but,  by 
jingo!  if  I take  the  matter  in  hand.  I'll  be  bound  I'll  get 
it  done.  ‘ Stephen's  Green — big  ditch — where  I used  to 
hunt  water-rats.'  Divil  sweep  you,  Murphy,  you'd  rather 
be  hunting  water-rats  any  day  than  minding  your  business. 
He's  a clever  fellow  for  all  that.  * Favorite  bitch — Mrs. 
Egan.'  Ay!  there's  the  end  of  it — with  his  bit  o'  po'- 
thry,  too!  The  divil!" 

The  Squire  threw  down  the  letter,  and  then  his  eye 
caught  the  other  t^o  that  Andy  had  .purl oined: 

“ More  of  that  stu}Tidi5lac^guard's  work!— robbing  the 
mail — no  less! — that  fellow  will  be  hanged  some  time  or 
other.  Egad,  may  be  they'll  hang  him  for  this!  What's 
the  best  to  be  done?  May  be  it  will  be  the  safest  way  to 
see  whom  they  are  for,  and  send  them  to  the  parties,  and 
request  they  will  say  nothing:  that's  it." 

The  Squire  here  took  up  the  letters  that  lay  before  him, 
to  read  their  superscriptions;  and  the  first  he  turned  over 
was  directed  to  Gustavus  Graiiby  GlGr^ly,  Esq.,  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hall,  Knockbotherum.  This  “was  what  is  called 
a curious  coincidence.  J ust  as  he  had  been  reading  all 
about  0 'Grady's  intended  treachery  to  him,  here  was  a 
letter  to  that  individual,  and  with  the  Dublin  postmark 
too,  and  a very  grand  seal.  ^ — — 

The  Squire  examined  the  arms;  and,  though  not  versed 
in  the  mysteries  of  heraldry,  he  thought  he  remembered 
enough  of  most  of  the  arms  he  had  seen  to  say  that  this 
armorial  bearing  was  a strange  one  to  him.  He  turned 
the  letter  over  and  over  again,  and  looked  at  it  back  and 
front,  with  an  expression  in  his  face  that  said,  as  plain  as 
countenance  could  speak,  “I'd  give  a trifle  to  know  what 
is  inside  of  this."  He  looked  at  the  seal  again:  “ Here's 
a — goose  I think  it  is,  sitting  on  a bowl  with  cross-bars  on 


SAKDY  ANDY. 


*3 

it,  and  a spoon  in  its  mouth:  like  the  fellow  that  owns  it, 
may  be.  A goose  with  a silver  spoon  in  its  mouth — well, 
here's  the  gable-end  of  a house,  and  a bird  sitting  on  the 
top  of  it.  Could  it  be  Sparrow?  There  is  a fellow  called 
Sparrow,  an  under-secretary  at  the  Castle.  D — n it!  I 
wish  I knew  what  it's  about." 

The  Squire  threw  down  the  letter  as  he  said, 46  D — n it!" 
but  took  it  up  again  in  a few  seconds,  and  catching  it  edge- 
wise between  his  forefinger  and  thumb,  gave  a gentle  press- 
ure that  made  the  letter  gape  at  its  extremities,  and  then, 
exercising  that  sidelong  glance  which  is  peculiar  to  post- 
masters, waiting-maids,  and  magpiesAvjio  inspect  marrow- 
bones, peeped- intol  the . jnterior  of  th^'epistla, . saying  to 
himself  as  he  did  so,  44  All's  fair  in  war,  and  why  not  in 
electioneering?"  His  face,  which  was  screwed  up  to  the 
scrutinizing  pucker,  gradually  lengthened  as  he  caught 
some  words  that  were  on  the  last  turn-over  of  the  sheet,  and 
so  could  be  read  thoroughly,  and  his  brow  darkened  into 
the  deepest  frown  as  he  scanned  these  lines:  46  As  you  very 
properly  and  pungently  remark,  poor  Egan  is  a spoon — a 
mere  spoon."  44  Am  I a spoon,  you  rascal?"  said  the 
Squire,  tearing  the  letter  into  pieces,  and  throwing  it  into 
the  fire.  44  And  ®so,  Misther  O' Grady,  you  say  I'm  a 
spoon!"  and  the  blood  of  the  Egans  rose  as  the  head  of 
that  pugnacious  family  strode  up  and  down  the  room : 
44  111  spoon  you,  my  buck! — I'll  settle  your  hash!  may  be 
I'nTa  spoon  you'll  sup  sorrow  with  yet!" 

Here  he  took  up  the  poker,  and  made  a very  angry  lunge 
at  the  fire  that  did  not  want  stirring,  and  there  he  beheld 
the  letter  blazing  merrily  away.  He  dropped  the  poker  as 
if  he  had  caught  it  by  the  hot  end,  as  he  exclaimed,  44  What 
the  d — 1 shall  I do?  I've  burned  the  letter!"  This  threw 
the  Squire  into  a fit  of  what  he  was  wont  to  call  his  44  con- 
sidering cap;"  and  he  sat  with  his  feet  on  the  fender  for 
some  minutes,  occasionally  muttering  to  himself  what  he 
began  with — 44  What  the  d — 1 shall  I do?  It's  all  owing 
to  that  infernal  Andy — I'll  murder  that  fellow  some  time 
or  other.  If  he  hadn't  brought  it — I shouldn't  have  seen 
it,  to  be  sure,  if  I hadn't  looked;  but  then  the  temptation 
- a saint  couldn't  have  withstood  it.  Confound  it!  what 
a stupid  trick  to  burn  it!  Another  here,  too — must  burn 
that  as  well,  and  say  nothing  about  either  of  them;"  and 
he  took  up  the  second  L'.jr,  and,  merely  looking  at  the 


26 


BANDY  ANDY. 


address,  threw  it  into  the  fire.  He  then  rang  the  bell,  and 
desired  Andy  to  be  sent  to  him.  As  soon  as  that  ingenious 
individual  made  his  appearance,  the  Squire  desired  him, 
with  peculiar  emphasis,  to  shut  the  door,  and  then  opened 
upon  him  with: 

“ You  unfortunate  rascal?” 

“ Yis,  your  honor.  ” 

“ Do  you  know  that  you  might  be  hanged  for  what  you 
did  to-day?” 

“ What  did  I do,  sir?” 

“ You  robbed  the  post-office.” 

“ How  did  I rob  it,  sir?” 

“ You  took  two  letters  that  you  had  no  right  to.” 

“ It's  no  robbery  for  a man  to  get  the  worth  of  his 
money.  ” 

“Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  you  stupid  villain?  Fm 
not  joking;  you  absolutely  might  be  hanged  for  robbing 
the  post-office.” 

“ Sure  I didn't  know  there  was  any  harm  in  what  I 
done;  and  for  that  matter  sure,  if  they're  sitch  wonderful 
value,  can't  I go  back  again  wid  'em?” 

“ No,  you  thief!  I hope  you've  not  said  a word  to  any 
one  about  it.” 

“ Not  the  sign  of  a word  passed  my  lips  about  it.” 

“ You're  sure?” 

“ Sartin!” 

“ Take  care,  then,  that  you  never  open  your  mouth  to 
mortal  about  it,  or  you'll  be  hanged,  as  sure  as  your  name 
is  Andy  Rooney.  ” 

“Oh!  at  that  rate  I never  will.  But  may  be  your  honor 
thinks  I ought  to  be  hanged?” 

“ No — because  you  did  not  intend  to  do  a wrong  thing; 
but,  only  I have  pity  on  you,  I could  hang  you  to-morrow 
for  what  you  have  done.  ” 

“ Thank  you,  sir.” 

“ I've  burned  the  letters,  so  no  one  can  know  anything 
about  the  business  unless  you  tell  on  yourself;  so  remember 
— not  a word.” 

“ Faith,  I'll  be  dumb  as  the  dumb  baste.” 

“ Go  now;  and  once  for  all,  remember  you'll  be  hanged 
so  sure  as  you  ever  mention  one  word  about  this  affair.” 
Andy  made  a bow  and  a scrape,  and  left  the  Squire,  who 
hoped  the  secret  was  safe.  He  then  took  a ruminating 


handy  andy. 


2? 


walk  round  the  pleasure-grounds,  revolving  plans  of  retalia- 
tion upon  his  false  friend  O' Grady  and  having  determined 
to  put  the  most  severe  and  sudden  measure  of  the  law  in 
force  against  him,  for  the  money  in  which  he  was  indebted 
to  him,  he  only  awaited  the  arrival  of  Murtough  Murphy 
from  Dublin  to  execute  his  vengeance.  Having  settled 
this  in  his  own  mind,  he  became  more  contented,  and  said, 
with  a self-satisfied  nod  of  the  head,  66  We'll  see  who's  the 
spoon. " 

In  a few  days  Murtough  Murphy  returned  from  Dublin, 
and  to  Merry  vale  he  immediately  proceeded.  The  Squire 
opened  to  him  directly  his  intention  of  commencing  hostile 
law  proceedings  against  O'Grady,  and  asked  what  most 
summary  measures  could  be  put  in  practice  against  him. 

“ Oh!  various,  various,  my  dear  Squire,"  said  Murphy; 
“ but  I don't  see  any  great  use  in  doing  so  yet — he  has  not 
openly  avowed  himself." 

“But  does  he  not  intend  to  coalesce  with  the  other 
party?" 

“ I believe  so — that  is,  if  he's  to  get  the  pension." 

“ Well,  and  that's  as  good  as  done,  you  know;  for  if 
they  want  him,  the  pension  is  easily  managed." 

“ I am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

“ Why,  they're  as  plenty  as  blackberries." 

“Very  true;  but,  you  see,  Lord  Gobblestown  swallows 
all  the  pensions  for  his  own  family;  and  there  are  a great 
many  complaints  in  the  market  against  him  for  plucking 
that  blackberry-bush  very  bare  indeed;  and  unless  Sack 
Scatterbrain  has  swingeing  interest,  the  pension  may  not 
be  such  an  easy  thing." 

“ But  still  O'Grady  has  shown  himself  not  my  friend." 

“ My  dear  Squire,  don't  be  so  hot;  he  has  not  shown 
himself  yet." 

“ Well,  but  he  means  it." 

“ My  dear  Squire,  you  oughtn’t  to  jump  at  a conclusion 
as  you  would  at  a twelve-foot  drain  or  a five-bar  gate." 

“Well,  he's  a blackguard!" 

“ No  denying  it;  and  therefore  keep  him  on  your  side  if 
you  can,  or  he'll  be  a troublesome  customer  on  the  other." 

“ I'll  keep  no  terms  with  him;  I'll  slap  at  him  directly. 
What  can  you  do  that's  wickedest?  latitat,  capias — fee-faw 
fum,  or  whatever  you  call  it?" 


HAKBY  AKBY. 


“ Hallo!  Squire,  you're  overrunning  your  game:  may 
be  after  all,  he  won’t  join  the  Scatterbrains,  and — " 

“ 1 tell  you  it's  no  matter;  he  intended  doing  it,  and 
that's  all  the  same.  Fll  slap  at  him — I'll  blister  him!" 

Murtough  Murphy  wondered  at  this  blind  fury  of  the 
Squire,  who,  being  a good-humored  and  good-natured  fel- 
low in  general,  puzzled  the  attorney  the  more  by  his  pres- 
ent manifest  malignity  against  O'Grady.  But  he  had  not 
seen  the  turn-over  of  the  letter:  he  had  not  seen  “ spoon," 
the  real  and  secret  cause  of  the  “ war-to-the-knife  " spirit 
which  was  kindled  in  the  Squire's  breast. 

“ Of  course,  you  can  do  what  you  please;  but,  if  you'd 
take  a friend's  advice — " 

“ I tell  you  I'll  blister  him." 

“ He  certainly  hied  you  very  freely. " 

“ I'll  blister  him,  I tell  you,  and  that  smart.  Lose 
no  time,  Murphy,  my  boy:  let  loose  the  dogs  of  law  on 
him,  and  harass  him  till  he'd  wish  the  d — 1 had  him." 

“ Just  as  you  like,  but — " 

“ I'll  have  it  my  own  way,  I tell  you;  so  say  no  more." 

“ I'll  commence  against  him  at  once,  then,  as  you  wish 
it;  but  it's  no  use,  for  you  know  very  well  that  it  will  be 
impossible  to  serve  him." 

“ Let  me  alone  for  that!  I'll  be  bound  I'll  find  fellows  to 
get  the  inside  of  him." 

4 6 Why,  his  house  is  barricaded  like  a jail,  and  he  has 
dogs  enough  to  bait  all  the  bulls  in  the  country. " 

“ No  matter:  just  send  me  the  blister  for  him,  and  I'll 
engage  I'll  stick  it  on  him." 

“ Very  well.  Squire;  you  shall  have  the  blister  as  soon  as 
it  can  be  got  ready.  I'll  tell  you  when  you  may  send  over 
to  me  for  it,  and  your  messenger  shall  have  it  hot  and 
warm  for  him.  Good-bye,  Squire." 

“ Good-bye,  Murphy! — lose  no  time." 

“ In  the  twinkling  of  a bedpost.  Are  you  going  to  Tom 
Durfy's  steeple-chase?" 

“ I'm  not  sure." 

“ I've  a bet  on  it.  Did  you  see  the  Widow  Flannagan 
lately?  You  didn't?  They  say  Tom's  pushing  it  strong 
there.  The  widow  has  money,  you  know,  and  Tom  does  it 
all  for  the  love  o'  God;  for  you  know.  Squire,  there  are 
two  things  God  hates — a coward  and  a poor  man.  Now, 
Tom's  no  coward ; and  that  he  may  be  sure  of  the  love  oh 


HANDY  ANDY. 


29 


God  on  the  other  score,  he's  making  up  to  the  widow;  and 
as  he's  a slashing  fellow,  she's  nothing  loath,  and,  for  fear 
of  any  one  cutting  him  out,  Tom  keeps  as  sharp  a lookout 
after  her  as  she  does  after  him;  he's  fierce  on  it,  and  looks 
pistols  at  any  one  that  attempts  putting  his  comether  on 
the  widow,  while  she  looks  6 as  soon  as  you  plaze, ' as  plain 
as  an  optical  lecture  can  enlighten  the  heart  of  man : in 
short,  Tom's  all  ram's  horns,  and  the  widow's  all  sheep's 
eyes.  Good-bye,  Squire. " And  Murtough  put  his  spurs 
to  his  horse,  and  cantered  down  the  avenue,  whistling  the 
last  popular  tune. 

Andy  was  sent  over  to  Murtough  Murphy's  for  the  law- 
process  at  the  appointed  time;  and  as  he  had  to  pass 
through  the  village,  Mrs.  Egan  desired  him  to  call  at  the 
apothecary's  for  some  medicine  that  was  prescribed  for  one 
of  the  children. 

“ What'll  I ax  for,  ma'am?" 

“ I'd  be  Firry  to  trust  to  you,  Andy,  for  remembering. 
Here's  the  description;  take  care  of  it,  and  Mr.  M'Garry 
will  give  yo,  something  to  bring  back;  and  mind,  if  it's  a 
powder — " 

“ Is  it  gunpowdher,  ma'am?" 

“ No — you  stupid — will  you  listen?  I say,  if  it's  a pow- 
der, don't  let  it  get  wet  as  you  did  the  sugar  the  other 
day." 

“ No,  ma'am." 

“ And  if  it's  a bottle,  don't  break  it,  as  you  did  the 
last." 

44  No,  ma'am." 

“ And  make  haste." 

“ Yis,  ma'am;"  and  olf  went  Andy. 

In  going  through  the  village,  he  forgot  to  leave  the  pre- 
scription at  the  apothecary's  and  pushed  on  for  the  attor- 
ney's; there  he  saw  Murtough  Murphy,  who  handed  him 
the  law  process,  inclosed  in  a cover,  with  a note  to  the 
Squire. 

“ Have  you  been  doing  anything  very  clever  lately, 
Andy?"  said  Murtough. 

“ I don't  know,  sir,"  said  Andy. 

“ Did  you  shoot  any  one  with  soda-water  since  I saw  you 
last?" 

Andy  grinned. 

“ Did  you  kill  any  more  dogs  lately,  Andy?" 


30 


HADKY  AKDY. 

“ Faix,  you're  too  hard  on  me,  sir;  sure  I never  killed 
but  one  dog,  and  that  was  an  accident — " 

“ An  accident!  curse  your  impudence,  you  thief!  Do 
you  think,  if  you  killed  one  of  the  pack  on  purpose,  we 
wouldn't  cut  the  very  heart  out  o'  you  with  our  hunting- 
whips?^ 

“ Faith,  I wouldn't  doubt  you,  sir;  but,  sure,  how  could 
I help  that  divil  of  a mare  runnin'  away  wid  me,  and 
tliramplin'  the  dogs?" 

“ Why  didn't  you  hold  her,  you  thief?" 

“ Hould  her,  indeed!  you  just  might  as  well  expect  to 
stop  fire  among  flax  as  that  one. " 

“ Well,  be  off  with  you  now,  Andy,  and  take  care  of 
what  I gave  you  for  the  Squire." 

“ Oh,  never  fear,  sir,"  said  Andy,  as  ie  turned  his 
horse's  head  homeward.  He  stopped  at  the  apothecary's 
in  the  village,  to  excute  his  commission  for  the  “ misthis." 
On  telling  the  son  of  Galen  that  he  wanted  some  physic 
“ for  one  of  the  childre  up  at  the  big  house,"  the  dispenser 
of  the  healing  art  asked  what  physic  he  wanted. 

“ Faith,  I dunna  what  physic." 

“ What's  the  matter  with  the  child?" 

“ He's  sick,  sir." 

“ I suppose  so,  indeed,  or  you  wouldn't  be  sent  for  medi- 
cine, you're  always  making  some  blunder.  You  come  here, 
and  don't  know  what  description  of  medicine  is  wanted." 

“ Don't  I?"  said  Andy,  with  a great  air. 

“ No,  you  don't,  you  omadhaun!"  said  the  apothecary. 

Andy  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  and  could  not  lay  hold  of 
the  paper  his  mistress  intrusted  him  with,  until  he  had 
emptied  them  thoroughly  of  their  contents  upon  the 
counter  of  the  shop;  and  then,  taking  the  prescription 
from  the  collection,  he  said:  “ So  you  tell  me  I don't  know 
the  description  of  the  physic  Fm  to  get.  Now,  you  see, 
you're  out;  for  that's  the  description  /"  and  he  slapped  the 
counter  impressively  with  his  hand  as  he  threw  down  the 
recipe  before  the  apothecary. 

While  the  medicine  was  in  the  course  of  preparation  for 
Andy,  he  commenced  restoring  to  his  pockets  the  various 
parcels  he  had  taken  from  them  in  hunting  for  the  recipe. 
Now,  it  happened  that  he  had  laid  them  down  close  beside 
some  articles  that  were  compounded,  and  sealed  up  for  going 
out,  on  the  apothecary's  counter:  and  as  the  law  process 


HANDY  ANDY. 


31 

whicli  Andy  had  received  from  Murtough  Murphy  chanced 
to  resemble  in  form  another  in  closure  that  lay  beside  it, 
containing  a blister,  Andy,  under  the  influence  of  his 
peculiar  genius,  popped  the  blister  into  his  pocket  instead 
of  the  package  which  had  been  confided  to  him  by  the  at^ 
torney,  and  having  obtained  the  necessary  medicine  from 
M’ Garry,  rode  home  with  great  self-complacency  that  he 
had  not  forgot  to  do  a single  thing  that  had  been  intrusted 
to  him.  “ I’m  all  right  this  time,”  said  Andy  to  himself. 

Scarcely  had  he  left  the  apothecary’s  when  another  mes- 
senger alighted  at  its  door,  and  asked  “ If  Squire  O’ Grady’s 
things  was  ready?” 

66  There  they  are,”  said  the  innocent  M’Garry,  pointing 
to  the  bottles,  boxes,  and  Ulster,  he  had  made  up  and  set 
aside,  little  dreaming  that  the  blister  had  been  exchanged 
for  a law  process:  and  Squire  O’Grady ’s  own  messenger 
popped  into  his  pocket  the  legal  instrument  that  it  was  as 
much  as  any  seven  men’s  lives  were  worth  to  bring  within 
gunshot  of  Neck-or-nothing  Hall. 

Home  he  went,  and  the  sound  of  the  old  gate  creaking  on 
its  hinges  at  the  entrance  of  the  avenue  awoke  the  deep- 
mouthed  dogs  around  the  house,  who  rushed  infuriate  to 
the  spot  to  devour  the  unholy  intruder  on  the  peace  and 
privacy  of  the  patrician  O’ Grady;  but  they  recognized  the 
old  gray  hack  and  his  rider,  and  quietly  wagged  their  tails 
and  trotted  back,  and  licked  their  lips  at  the  thoughts  of 
the  bailiff  they  had  hoped  to  eat.  The  door  of  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hall  was  carefully  unbarred  and  unchained,  and 
the  nurse-tender  was  handed  the  parcel  from  the  apothe- 
cary’s, and  reascended  to  the  sick-room*  with  slippered  foot 
as  quietly  as  she  could;  for  the  renowned  O’ Grady  was,  ac- 
cording to  her  account,  “ as  cross  as  two  sticks;”  and  she 
protested,  furthermore,  “ that  her  heart  was  gray  with 
him.” 

Whenever  O’Grady  was  in  a bad  humor,  he  had  a strange 
fashion  of  catching  at  some  word  that  either  he  himself,  or 
those  with  whom  he  spoke,  had  uttered,  and  after  often  re- 
peating it,  or  rather  mumbling  it  over  in  his  mouth,  as  if 
he  were  chewing  it,  off  he  started  into  a canter  of  ridicu- 
lous rhymes  to  the  aforesaid  word,  and  sometimes  one  of 
these,  rhymes  would  suggest  a new  idea,  or  some  strange 
association  which  had  the  oddest  effect  possible;  and  to  in- 
crease the  absurdity,  the  jingle  was  gone  through  with  as 


32 


HANDY  ANDY. 


much  solemnity  as  if  he  were  indulging  in  a deep  and  in- 
teresting reverie,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  listen  without 
laughing,  which  might  prove  a serious  matter  when 
O'  Grady  was  in  one  of  his  tantarums,  as  his  wife  used  to 
call  them. 

Mrs.  O' Grady  was  near  the  bed  of  the  sick  man  as  the 
nurse-tender  entered. 

44  Here's  the  things  for  your  honor,  now/'  said  she,  in 
her  most  soothing  tone. 

44  I wish  the  d — 1 had  you  and  them!"  said  O' Grady. 

44  Gusty  dear!"  said  his  wife.  (She  might  have  said 
stormy  instead  of  gusty.) 

44  Oh!  they'll  do  you  good,  your  honor,"  said  the  nurse- 
tender,  eourtesying,  and  uncorking  bottles,  and  opening  a 
pill-box. 

O'Grady  made  a face  at  the  pill-box,  and  repeated  the 
word  46  pills"  several  times,  with  an  expression  of  extreme 
disgust.  44  Pills — pills — kills — wills — ay — make  your  wills 
— make  them — -take  them — shake  them.  When  taken — to 
be  well  shaken — show  me  that  bottle." 

The  nurse-tender  handed  a vial,  which  O' Grady  shook 
violently. 

44  Curse  them  all!"  said  the  Squire.  44  A pretty  thing 
to  have  a gentleman's  body  made  a perfect  sink  for  these 
blackguard  doctors  and  apothecaries  to  pour  their  dirty 
drugs  into — faugh!  drugs — mugs— jugs!"  He  shook  the 
Vial  again,  and  looked  through  it. 

44  Isn't  it  nice  ana  pink,  darlin'?"  said  the  nurse-tender. 

44  Pink!"  said  O' Grady,  eying  her  askance,  as  if  he 
could  have  eaten  her.  44  Pink,  you  old  besom,  pink  " — he 
uncorked  the  phial,  and  put  it  to  his  nose.  4fc  Pink — 
phew — !"  and  he  repeated  a rhyme  to  pink  which  would 
not  look  well  in  print. 

44  Now,  sir,  dear,  there's  a little  blister  jusft  to  go  on 
your  chest — if  you  plaze. " 

44  A ivhat  V ' 

44  A warm  plasther,  dear." 

44  A blister  you  said,  you  old  divil  /" 

44  Well,  sure  it’s  something  to  relieve  you." 

The  Squire  gave  a deep  growl,  and  his  wife  put  in  the 
usual  appeal  of  44  Gusty,  dear!" 

44  Hold  your  tongue,  will  you?  How  would  you  like  it? 
X wish  you  had  it  on  your — " 


HANDY  ANDY. 


33 


<c  Deed-an-deed,  dear,"  said  the  nurse-tender. 

“ By  the  Vernal  war!  if  you  say  another  word,  Fll  throw 
the  jug  at  you!" 

“ And  there*  s a nice  dhrop  o*  gruel  I have  on  the  fire 
for  you/*  said  the  nurse,  pretending  not  to  mind  the  rising 
anger  of  the  Squire,  as  she  stirred  the  gruel  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  marked  herself  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  and  said  in  a mumbling  manner,  “ God  presarve 
us!  he*s  the  most  cantankerous  Christian  I ever  kem 
across!** 

4 6 Show  me  that  infernal  thing!**  said  the  Squire. 

“ What  thing,  dear?** 

“ You  know  well  enough,  you  old  hag!  that  blackguard 
blister!** 

“ Here  it  is,  dear.  How  just  open  the  burst  o*  your 
shirt,  and  let  me  put  it  an  you.  ** 

66  Give  it  into  my  hand  here,  and  let  me  see  it.** 

“ Sartinly,  sir;  but  I think,  if  you*d  let  me  just — ** 

“ Give  it  to  me,  I tell  you!"  said  the  Squire,  in  a tone 
so  fierce  that  the  nurse  paused  in  her  unfolding  of  the 
packet,  and  handed  it  with  fear  and  trembling  to  the 
already  indignant  0* Grady.  But  it  is  only  imagination  can 
figure  the  outrageous  fury  of  the  Squire  when,  on  opening 
the  envelope  with  his  own  hand,  he  beheld  the  law  process 
before  him.  There,  in  the  heart  of  his  castle,  with  his 
bars,  and  bolts,  and  bull-dogs,  and  blunderbusses  around 
him,  he  was  served — absolutely  served — and  he  had  no 
doubt  the  nurse-tender  was  bribed  to  betray  him. 

A roar  and  a jump  up  in  bed  first  startled  his  wife  into 
terror  and  put  the  nurse  on  the  defensive. 

“ You  infernal  old  strap!"  shouted  he,  as  he  clutched 
up  a handful  of  bottles  on  the  table  near  him  and  flung 
them  at  the  nurse,  who  was  near  the  fire  at  the  time:  and 
she  whipped  the  pot  of  gruel  from  the  grate,  and  converted 
it  into  a means  of  defense  against  the  vial-pelting  storm. 

Mrs.  0* Grady  rolled  herself  up  in  the  bed-curtains  while 
the  nurse  screeched  “ Murther!"  and  at  last,  whenO*Grady 
saw  that  bottles  were  of  no  avail,  he  scrambled  out  of  bed, 
shouting,  “ Where*s  my  blunderbuss?**  and  the  nurse- 
tender,  while  he  endeavored  to  get  it  down  from  the  rack  ^ 
where  it  was  suspended  over  the  mantel-piece,  bolted  out 
of  the  door,  and  ran  to  the  most  remote  corner  of  the  house 
for  shelter. 


34 


HANDY  ANDY. 


In  the  meantime,  how  fared  it  at  Merrvvale?  Andy  re- 
turned with  his  parcel  for  the  Squire,  and  his  note  from 
Murtough  Murphy,  which  ran  thus: — 

“ My  dear  Squire, — I send  you  the  Ulster  for  Q'Grady 
as  you  insist  on  it;  but  I think  you  won't  find  it  easy  to 
serve  him  with  it. 

“ Your  obedient  and  obliged, 

“ Murtough  Murphy. 

“ To  Edward  Egan , Esq,  Merry  vale ." 

The  Squire  opened  the  cover,  and,  when  he  saw  a real 
instead  of  a figurative  blister,  grew  crimson  with  rage.  He 
could  not  speak  for  some  minutes,  his  indignation  was  so 
excessive.  66  So,"  said  he  at  last,  “ Mr.  Murtough  Mur- 
phy, you  think  to  cut  your  jokes  with  me,  do  you?  By  all 
that's  sacred.  I'll  cut  such  a joke  on  you  with  the  biggest 
horsewhip  I can  find,  that  you'll  remember  it.  6 Dear 
Squire , I send  you  the  blister .'  Bad  luck  to  your  impi- 
dence!  Wait  till  awhile  ago— that's  all.  By  this  and 
that,  you'll  get  such  a blistering  from  me,  that  ail  the 
spermaceti  in  M'Garry's  shop  won't  cure  you." 


CHAPTER  III.  m 

Squire  Egan  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  picked  out 
the  most  suitable  horsewhip  for  chastising  the  fancied  im- 
pertinence of  Murtough  Murphy;  and  as  he  switched  it  up 
and  down  with  a powerful  arm,  to  try  its  weight  and  pli- 
ancy, the  whistling  of  the  instrument  through  the  air 
was  music  to  his  ears,  and  whispered  of  promised  joy  in 
the  flagellation  of  the  jocular  attorney. 

6 6 We'll  see  who  can  make  the  sorest  blister,"  said  the 
Squire. 

“ I'll  back  whalebone  against  Spanish  flies  any  day. 
Will  you  bet,  Dick?"  said  he  to  his  brother-in-law,  who 
was  a wild,  helter-skelter  sort  of  fellow,  better  known  over 
the  country  as  Dick  the  Bivil  than  Dick  Dawson. 

“ I'll  back  your  bet,  Ned." 

“ There's  no  fun  in  that,  Dick,  as  there  is  nobody  to 
take  it  up." 

“ May  be  Murtough  will.  Ask  him  before  you  thrash 
him;  you'd  better." 


HANDY  ANDY. 


35 


" As  for  him,59  said  the  Squire,  cc  Pll  he  hound  heffl 
back  my  bet  after  he  gets  a taste  o*  this;**  and  the  horse- 
whip whistled  as  he  spoke. 

“ I think  he  had  better  take  care  of  his  back  than  hia 
bet/*  said  Dick  as  he  followed  the  Squire  to  the  hall-door, 
where  his  horse  was  in  waiting  for  him,  under  the  care  of 
the  renowned  Andy,  who  little  dreamed  of  the  extensive 
harvest  of  mischief  which  was  ripening  in  futurity,  all  from 
his  sowing. 

“ Don't  kill  him  quite,  Ked/*  said  Dick,  as  the  Squire 
mounted  to  his  saddle. 

“ Why,  if  I went  to  horsewhip  a gentleman,  of  course  I 
should  only  shake  my  whip  at  him ; but  an  attorney  is  an- 
other alfair.  And,  as  I'm  sure  he'll  have  an  action  against 
me  for  assault,  X think  X may  as  well  get  the  worth  of  my 
money  out  of  him,  to  say  nothing  of  teaching  him  better 
manners  for  the  future  than  to  play  off  his  jokes  on  his 
employers.**  With  these  words  off  he  rode  in  search  of 
the  devoted  Murtough,  who  was  not  at  home  when  the 
Squire  reached  his  house;  but  as  he  was  returning  through 
the  village,  he  espied  him  coming  down  the  street  in  com- 

Ewith  Tom  Durfy  and  the  widow,  'who  were  laughing 
:ily  at  some  joke  Murtough  was  telling  them,  which 
seemed  to  amuse  him  as  much  as  his  hearers. 

“ 1*11  make  him  laugh  on  the  wrong  side  of  his  mouth,** 
thought  the  Squire,  alighting  and  giving  his  horse  to  the 
care  of  one  of  the  little  ragged  boys  who  were  idling  in  the 
street.  He  approached  Murphy  with  a very  threatening 
aspect,  and  confronting  him  and  his  party  so  as  to  produce 
a halt,  he  said,  as  distinctly  as  his  rage  would  permit  him 
to  speak,  “ You  little  insignificant  blackguard,  XT1  teach 
you  how  youTl  cut  your  jokes  on  me  again;  I’ll  blister 
you,  my  buck!'*  and  laying  hands  on  the  astonished  Mur- 
tough with  the  last  word,  he  began  a very  smart  horse- 
whipping of  the  attorney.  The  widow  screamed,  Tom 
Durfy  swore,  and  Murtough  roared,  with  some  interjec- 
tional  curses.  At  last  he  escaped  from  the'  Squire*s  grip, 
leaving  the  lapel  of  his  coat  in  his  possession ; vand  Tom 
Durfy  interposed  his  person  between  them  when  he  saw  an 
intention  on  the  part  of  the  flagellator  to  repeat  Xus  dose  of 
horsewhip. 

“ Let  me  at  him,  sir,  or  by — ** 


36 


HANDY  ANDY. 


44  Fy,  f y,  Squire! — to  horsewhip  a gentlemanlike  a cart- 
horse.” 

44  A gentleman! — an  attorney  you  mean.” 

“ I say  a gentleman.  Squire  Egan,”  cried  Murtough 
fiercely,  roused  to  gallantry  by  the  presence  of  a lady,  and 
smarting  under  a sense  of  injury  and  whalebone.  44  Fm  a 
gentleman,  sir,  and  demand  the  satisfaction  of  a gentle- 
man. I put  my  honor  into  your  hands,  Mr.  Durfy.** 

44  Between  his  finger  and  thumb,  you  mean,  for  there* s 
not  a handful  of  it/*  said  the  Squire. 

6 4 Well,  sir,**  replied  Tom  Durfy,  44  little  or  much.  111 
take  charge  of  it.  That*s  right,  my  cock,**  said  he  to 
Murtough,  who,  notwithstanding  his  desire  to  assume  a 
warlike  air,  could  not  resist  the  natural  impulse  of  rubbing 
his  back  and  shoulders  which  tingled  with  pain,  while  he 
exclaimed,  44  Satisfaction!  satisfaction!** 

44  Very  well,**  said  the  squire,  44  you  name  yourself  as 
Mr.  Murphy's  friend?**  added  he  to  Durfy. 

44  The  same,  sir,**  said  Tom.  64  Whom  do  you  name 
as  yours?** 

44 1 suppose  you  know  one  Dick  the  Divil?** 

44  A very  proper  person,  sir — no  better:  111  go  to  him 
directly.** 

The  widow  clung  to  Torn*s  arm,  and  looking  tenderly  at 
him,  cried,  44  Oh,  Tom,  Tom,  take  care  of  your  precious 
life!** 


44  Bother!**  said  Tom. 

44  Ah,  Squire  Egan,  don*t  be  so  blood-thirsty!** 

44  Fudge,  woman!**  said  the  Squire. 

44  Ah,  Mr.  Murphy,  I*m  sure  the  Squire*s  very  sorry 
for  beating  you.** 

44  Divil  a bit,**  said  the  Squire. 

44  There,  ma*am,**  said  Murphy,  44  you  see  hell  make 
no  apology.** 

44  Apology!**  said  Durfy,  44  apology  for  a horsewhipping, 
indeed!  Nothing  but  handing  a horsewhip  (which  I 
wouldn*t  ask  any  gentleman  to  do),  or  a shot,  can  settle 
the  matter  **  * 

44  Oh,  Tom!  Tom!  Tom!**  said  the  widow. 

44  Ba!  ba!  ba!**  shouted  Tom,  making  a crying  face  at 
her.  44  Arrah,  woman,  don*t  be  making  a fool  of  yourself. 
Go  in  to  the  *pothecary*s,  and  get  something  under  your 
nose?  to  revive  you:  and  let  us  mind  our  own  business.** 


HAm>Y  AHDY. 


87 


The  widow  with  her  eyes  turned  up,  and  an  exclamation 
to  Heaven,  was  retiring  to  M’ Garry’s  shop,  wringing  her 
hands,  when  she  was  nearly  knocked  down  by  M’ Garry 
himself,  who  rushed  from  his  own  door,  at  the  same  mO’ 
ment  that  an  awful  smash  of  his  shop-window  and  the 
demolition  of  his  blue  and  red  bottles  alarmed  the  ears  of 
the  by-standers,  while  their  eyes  were  drawn  from  the  late 
belligerent  parties  to  a chase  which  took  place  down  the 
street  of  the  apothecary,  roaring  “ Murder!”  followed  by 
Squire  O'Grady  with  an  enormous  cudgel. 

O’ Grady,  believing  that  M’ Garry  and  the  nurse-tender 
had  combined  to  serve  him  with  a writ,  determined  to 
wreak  double  vengeance  on  the  apothecary,  as  the  nurse 
had  escaped  him;  and,  notwithstanding  all  his  illness  and 
the  appeals  of  his  wife,  he  left  his  bed  and  rode  to  the  vil- 
lage, to  “ break  every  bone  in  M’ Garry’s  skin.”  When 
he  entered  the  shop,  the  pharmacopolist  was  much  sur- 
prised, and  said,  with  a congratulatory  grin  at  the  great 
man,  “ Dear  me.  Squire  O’Grady,  I’m  delighted  to  see 
you.” 

“ Are  you,  you  scoundrel!”  said  the  Squire,  making  a 
blow  of  his  cudgel  at  him,  which  was  fended  off  by  an  iron 
pestle  the  apothecary  fortunately  had  in  his  hand.  The 
enraged  O’Grady  made  a rush  behind  the  counter,  which 
the  apothecary  nimbly  jumped  over,  crying  “ Murder!” 
as  he  made  for  the  door,  followed  by  his  pursuer,  who  gave 
a back-handed  slap  at  the  window-bottles  en  passant , and 
produced  the  crash  which  astonished  the  widow,  who  now 
joined  her  screams  to  the  general  hue  and  cry;  for  an  in- 
discriminate chase  of  all  the  ragamuffins  in  the  town,  with 
barking  curs  and  screeching  children,  followed  the  flight 
of  M’  Garry  and  the  pursuing  Squire. 

“ What  the  divil  is  all  this  about?”  said  Tom  Durfy, 
laughing.  “ By  the  powers!  I suppose  there’s  something 
in  the  weather  to  produce  all  this  fun — though  it’s  early 
in  the  year  to  begin  thrashing,  for  the  harvest  isn’t  in  yet. 
But,  however,  let  us  manage  our  little  affair,  now  that 
we’re  left  in  peace  and  quietness,  for  the  blackguards  are 
all  over  the  bridge  after  the  hunt.  I’ll  go  to  Dick  the 
Divil  immediately,  Squire,  and  arrange  time  and  place. ” 

“ There’s  nothing  like  saving  time  and  trouble  on  these 
occasions,’  ’ said  the  Squire.  4 6 Dick  is  at  my  house,  I can 


38 


HANDY  ANDY. 


arrange  time  and  place  with  you  this  minute,  and  he  will 
be  on  the  ground  with  me,^ 

“ Very  well.,”  said  Tom;  “ where  is  it  to  he?” 

“ Suppose  we  say  the  cross-roads,  half-way  between  this 
and  Merryvale?  There’s  very  pretty  ground  there,  and  we 
shall  he  able  to  get  our  pistols  and  all  that  ready  in  the 
meantime  between  this  and  four  o’clock— and  it  will  be 
pleasanter  to  have  it  all  over  before  dinner.” 

66  Certainly,  Squire,”  said  Tom  Durfy;  6C  we’ll  be  there 
at  four.  Till  then,  good-morning.  Squire;”  and  he  and 
his  man  walked  off. 

The  widow,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  left  to  the  care 
of  the  apothecary’s  boy,  whose  tender  mercies  were  now, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  demanded  toward  a fainting 
lady;  for  the  poor  raw  country  lad,  having  to  do  with  a 
sturdy  peasantry  in  every-day  matters,  had  never  before 
seen  the  capers  cut  by  a lady  who  thinks  it  proper,  and 
delicate,  and  becoming,  to  display  her  sensibility  in  a swoon; 
and  truly  her  sobs,  and  small  screeches,  and  little  stamp- 
ings and  kickings,  amazed  young  gallipot.  Smelling-salts 
were  applied; — they  were  rather  weak,  so  the  widow  in- 
haled the  pleasing  odor  with  a sigh,  but  did  not  recover. 
SaL volatile  was  next  put  into  requisition — this  was  some- 
thing stronger,  and  made  her  wriggle  on  her  chair,  and 
throw  her  head  about  with  sundry  46  Ohs!”  and  66  Ahs!” 
The  boy,  beginning  to  be  alarmed  at  the  extent  of  the  wid- 
ow’s syncope,  bethought  himself  of  asafetida;  and,  taking 
down  a goodly  bottle  of  that  sweet-smelling  stimulant,  gave 
the  widow  the  benefit  of  the  whole  jar  under  her  nose. 
Scarcely  had  the  stopper  been  withdrawn,  when  she  gave  a 
louder  screech  than  she  had  yet  executed,  and  exclaiming 
“ Faugh!”  with  an  expression  of  the  most  concentrated 
disgust,  opened  her  eyes  fiercely  upon  the  offender,  and 
shut  up  her  nose  between  her  forefinger  and  thumb  against 
the  offense,  and  snuffled  forth  at  the  astonished  boy,  Get 
out  o’  that,  you  dirty  cur!  Can’t  you  let  a lady  faint  in 
peace  and  quietness?  Gracious  Heavens!  would  you 
smother  me,  you  nasty  brute?  Oh,  Tom,  where  are  you?” 
and  she  took  to  sobbing  forth  “ Tom!  Tom!”  and  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  to  hide  the  tears  that  were  not 
there,  while  from  behind  the  corner  of  the  cambric  she 
kept  a sliarp  eye  on  the  street,  and  observed  what  was  go- 
ing on.  She  went  on  acting  her  part  very  becomingly. 


HANDY  ANDY* 


8§ 

until  the  moment  Tom  Durfy  walked  off  with  Murphy; 
but  then  she  could  feign  no  longer,  and  jumping  up  from 
her  seat,  with  an  exclamation  of  “ The  brute  !”  she  ran  to 
the  door,  and  looked  down  the  street  after  them.  “ The 
savage!”  sobbed  the  widow;  “ the  hard-hearted  monster! 
to  abandon  me  here  to  die — oh!  to  use  me  so — to  leave  me 
like  a — like  a" — (the  widow  was  fond  of  similes) — “like 
an  old  shoe — liKe  a dirty  glove — like  a — like  I don't  know 
What!”  (the  usual  fate  of  similes).  “ Mister  Durfy,  I'll 
punish  you  for  this — I will!”  said  the  widow,  with  an  en- 
ergetic emphasis  on  the  last  word;  and  she  marched  out  of 
the  shop,  boiling  over  with  indignation,  through  which, 
nevertheless,  a little  bubble  of  love  now  and  then  rose  to 
the  surface;  and  by  the  time  she  reached  her  own  door, 
love  predominated,  and  she  sighed  as  she  laid  her  hand  on 
the  knocker:  “After  all,  if  the  dear  fellow  should  be 
killed,  what  would  become  of  me! — oh! — and  that  wretch, 
Dick  Dawson,  too — tivo  of  them.  The  worst  of  these  merry 
devils  is  they  are  always  fighting.” 

The  Squire  had  ridden  immediately  homeward,  and  told 
Dick  Dawson  the  piece  of  work  that  was  before  them. 

6 6 And  so  he  will  have  a shot  at  you,  instead  of  an  ac- 
tion?” said  Dick.  “ Well,  there' §gpluck  in  that:  I wish  he 
was  more  of  a gentleman,  for  your  sake.  It's  dirty  work, 
shooting  attorneys.” 

“ He's  enough  of  a gentleman,  Dick,  to  make  it  impos- 
sible for  me  to  refuse  him.” 

“ Certainly,  Ned,”  said  Dick. 

“ Do  you  know,  is  he  anything  of  a shot?” 

“ Faith,  he  makes  very  pretty  snipe-shooting;  but  I 
don't  know  if  he  has  experience  of  the  grass  before  break- 
fast." 

“ You  must  try  and  find  out  from  some  one  on  the 
ground;  because,  if  the  poor  divil  isn't  a good  shot,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  kill  him,  and  I'll  let  him  off  easy — I'll  give 
it  to  him  in  the  pistol-arm,  or  so. '' 

“ Very  well,  Ned.  Where  are  the  flutes?  I must  look 
over  them.” 

“Here,”  said  the  Squire,  producing  a very  handsome 
mahogany  case  of  Eigby's  best.  Dick  opened  the  case  with 
the  utmost  care,  and  took  up  one  of  tne  pistols  tenderly, 
handling  it  as  delicately  as  if  it  were  a young  child  or  a 
lady's  hand.  He  clicked  the  lock  back  and  forward  a few 


40 


HANDY  ANDY. 


times;  and,  his  ear  not  being  satisfied  at  the  music  it  pro- 
duced, he  said  he  should  like  to  examine  them:  “ At  all 
events  they  want  a touch  of  oil  .” 

“ Well,  keep  them  out  of  the  misthriss'  sight,  Dick,  for 
she  might  be  alarmed.” 

“ Divil  a taste,”  says  Dick;  “ she's  a Dawson,  and  there 
never  was  a Dawson  yet  that  did  not  know  men  must  be 
men.” 

“ That's  true,  Dick.  I would  not  mind  so  much  if  she 
wasn't  in  a delicate  situation  just  now,  when  it  couldn't  be 
expected  of  the  woman  to  be  so  stout  ; so  go,  like  a good 
fellow,  into  your  own  room,  and  Andy  will  bring  you  any- 
thing you  want.” 

Five  minutes  after,  Dick  was  engaged  in  cleaning  the 
dueling-pistols,  and  Andy  at  his  elbow,  with  his  mouth 
wide  open,  wondering  at  the  interior  of  the  locks  which 
Dick  had  just  taken  off. 

“ Oh,  my  heavens!  but  that's  a quare  thing,  Misther 
Dick,  sir,”  said  Andy,  going  to  take  it  up. 

“ Keep  your  fingers  off  it,  you  thief,  do!”  roared  Dick, 
making  a rap  of  the  turnscrew  at  Andy's  knuckles. 

“ Shure,  I'll  save  you  the  trouble  o'  rubbin'  that,  Mis- 
ther Dick,  if  you  let  me^  here's  the  shabby  leather.  ” 

“ I wouldn't  let  your  clumsy  fist  near  it,  Andy,  nor 
your  shabby  leather,  you  villain,  for  the  world.  Go  get 
me  some  oil.  ” 

Andy  went  on  his  errand,  and  returned  with  a can  of 
lamp-oil  to  Dick,  who  swore  at  him  for  his  stupidity; 
“ The  divil  fly  away  with  you!— you  never  do  anything 
right;  you  bring  me  lamp-oil  for  a pistol.” 

“ Well,  sure  I thought  lamp-oil  was  the  right  thing  for 
burnin'.” 

“ And  who  wants  to  burn  it,  you  savage?” 

“ Aren't  you  going  to  fire  it,  sir?” 

“ Choke  you,  you  vagabond,”  said  Dick,  who  could  not 
resist  laughing,  nevertheless;  “ be  off,  and  get  me  some 
sweet  oil;  but  don't  tell  any  one  what  it's  for.” 

Andy  retired,  and  Dick  pursued  his  polishing  of  the 
locks.  Why  he  used  such  a blundering  fellow  as  Andy  for 
a messenger  might  be  wondered  at,  only  that  Dick  was 
fond  of  fun,  and  Andy's  mistakes  were  a particular  source 
of  amusement  to  him,  and  on  all  occasions  when  he  could 
have  Andy  in  his  company  he  made  him  his  attendant. 


HAKDY  ANDY* 


41 


When  the  sweet  oil  was  produced.,  Dick  looked  about  for  a 
feather;  but,  not  finding  one,  desired  Andy  to  fetch  him  a 
pen.  Andy  went  on  his  errand,  and  returned,  after  some 
delay,  with  an  ink  bottle. 

“ I brought  you  the  ink,  sir;  but  I can*t  find  a pin.** 

“ Confound  your  numskull!  I didn*t  say  a word  about 
ink— I asked  for  a pen/* 

“ And  what  use^  would  a pin  be  without  ink,  now  I ax 
yourself,  Misther  Dick?** 

“ I*d  knock  your  brains  out  if  you  had  any,  you  omci- 
dhaun!  Go  along,  and  get  me  a feather,  and  make  haste.  ** 
Andy  went  off,  and  having  obtained  a feather,  returned 
to  Dick,  who  began  to  tip  certain  portions  of  the  lock  very 
delicately  with  oil. 

“ What*s  that  for,  Misther  Dick,  sir,  if  you  plaze?** 

“ To  make  it  work  smooth/* 

“ And  what*s  that  thing  you*re  grazin*  now,  sir?** 

“ That*s  the  tumbler.** 

“0  Lord!  a tumbler— what  a quare  name  for  it.  I 
thought  there  was  no  tumbler  but  a tumbler  for  punch.** 

“ That*s  the  tumbler  you  would  like  to  be  cleaning  the 
inside  of,  Andy.** 

“ Thrue  for  you,  sir.  And  what*s  that  little  thing  you 
have  your  hand  on  now,  sir?** 

“ That*s  the  cock.** 

“ Oh,  dear,  a cock!  Is  there  e*er  a hin  in  it,  sir?** 

“ Ho,  nor  a chicken  either,  though  there  is  a feather/5 
“ The  one  in  your  hand,  sir,  that  you*re  grazin*  it  with?** 
“ Ho;  but  this  little  thing — that  is  called  the  feather- 
spring.** 

6 6 It*s  the  feather,  I suppose,  makes  it  let  fly.** 

“ Ho  doubt  of  it,  Andy.** 

“ Well,  there* s some  sinse  in  that  name,  then;  butwho*<3 
think  of  sich  a thing  as  a tumbler  and  a cock  in  a pistle? 
And  what*s  that  place  that  opens  and  shuts,  sir?** 

“ The  pan.** 

“.Well,  there*s  sinse  in  that  name  too,  bekase  there*s 
fire  in  the  thing;  and  it*s  as  nath*ral  to  say  pan  to  that  as 
to  a fryin*-pan — isn*t  it,  Misther  Dick?** 

“ Oh!  there  was  a great  gunmaker  lost  in  you,  Andy,** 
said  Dick,  as  he  screwed  on  the  locks,  which  lie  had  regU' 
lated  to  his  mind,  and  began  to  examine  the  various  departs 
ments  of  the  pistol-case,  to  see  that  it  was  properly  provid 


42 


HAHDY  A l$Dt. 


ed.  He  took  the  instrument  to  cut  some  circles  of  thin 
leather,  and  Andy  again  asked  him  for  the  name  o'  that 
thing? 

64  This  is  called  the  punch,  Andy.” 

44  So  there  is  the  punch  as  well  as  the  tumbler,  sir.” 

44  Ay,  and  very  strong  punch  it  is,  you  see,  Andy;”  and 
Dick,  struck  it  with  his  little  mahogany  mallet,  and  cut  his 
patches  of  leather. 

4 4 And  what's  that  for,  sir? — the  leather  I mane.” 

44  That's  for  putting  round  the  ball." 

44  Is  it  for  fear  't would  hurt  him  too  much  when  you 
shot  him.” 

44  You're  a queer  customer,  Andy,”  said  Dick,  smiling. 
44  And  what  weeshee  little  balls  thim  is,  sir.” 

44  They  are  always  small  for  dueling-pistols." 

44  Oh,  then  thim  is  jewellin'  pistles.  Why,  musha,  Mis- 
ther  Dick,  is  it  goin'  to  fight  a jule  you  are?”  said  Andy, 
looking  at  him  with  earnestness. 

44  No,  Andy,  but  the  master  is;  but  don't  say  a word 
about  it.” 

44  Not  a word  for  the  world.  The  masther's  goin'  to 
fight!  God  send  him  safe  out  iv  it!  amin.  And  who  is  he 
going  to  fight,  Misther  Dick?" 

44  Murphy,  the  attorney,  Andy." 

44  Oh,  won't  the  masther  disgrace  himself  by  fightin'  the 
'torney?” 

44  How  dare  you  say  such  a thing  of  your  master?” 

44 1 ax  your  pard'n,  Misther  Dick;  but  sure  you  know 
what  I mane.  I hope  he'll  shoot  him. " 

44  Why,  Andy,  Mur  tough  was  always  very  good  to  you, 
and  now  you  wish  him  to  be  shot.” 

44  Sure,  why  wouldn't  I rather  have  him  kilt  more  than 
the  masther?" 

44  But  neither  may  be  killed.” 

44  Misther  Dick,"  said  Andy,  lowering  his  voice, 
44  wouldn't  it  be  an  iligant  thing  to  put  two  balls  into  the 
pistle  instead  o'  one,  and  give  the  masther  a chance  over 
the  'torney?” 

44  Oh,  you  murdherous  villain!” 

# “ Arrah!  why  shouldn't  the  masther  have  a chance  over 
him?  sure  he  has  childre,  and  'Torney  Murphy  has  none.” 
44  At  any  rate,  Andy,  I suppose  you'd  give  the  masther 
a ball  additional  for  every  child  he  has,  and  that  would 


HANDY  ANDY.  43 

tnake  eight.  So  you  might  as  well  give  him  a blunderbuss 
and  slugs  at  once.  " 

Dick  loaded  the  pistol-case,  having  made  all  right,  and 
desired  Andy  to  mount  a horse,  carry  it  by  a back  road  out 
of  the  demesne,  and  wait  at  a certain  gate  he  named  until 
he  should  be  joined  there  by  himself  and  the  Squire,  who 
proceeded  at  the  appointed  time  to  the  ground. 

Andy  was  all  ready,  and  followed  his  master  and  Dick 
with  great  pride,  bearing  the  pistol-case  after  them  to  the 
ground,  where  Murphy  and  Tom  Durfy  were  ready  to  re- 
ceive them;  and  a great  number  of  spectators  were  assem- 
bled, for  the  noise  of  the  business  had  gone  abroad,  and  the 
ground  was  in  consequence  crowded. 

Tom  Durfy  had  warned  Murtough  Murphy,  who  had  no 
experience  as  a pistol  man,  that  the  Squire  was  a capital 
shot,  and  that  his  only  chance  was  to  fire  as  quickly  as  he 
could.  “ Slap  at  him,  Morty,  my  boy,  the  minute  you  get 
the  word;  and  if  you  don't  hit  him  itself,  it  will  prevent 
his  dwelling  on  his  aim, " 

Tom  Durfy  and  Dick  the  Devil  soon  settled  the  pre- 
liminaries of  the  ground  and  mode  of  firing,  and  twelve 
paces  having  been  marked,  both  the  seconds  opened  their 
pistol-cases  and  prepared  to  load.  Andy  was  close  to  Dick 
all  the  time,  kneeling  beside  the  pistol-case,  which  lay  on 
the  sod;  and  as  Dick  turned  round  to  settle  some  other 
point  on  which  Tom  Durfy  questioned  him,  Andy  thought 
he  might  snatch  the  opportunity  of  giving  his  master  “ the 
chance”  he  suggested  to  his  second.  “ Sure,  if  Misther 
Dick  wouldn't  like  to  do  it,  that's  no  raison  I wouldn't," 
said  Andy  to  himself,  “ and,  by  the  powers!  I'll  pop  in  a 
ball  onknoimst  to  him.''  And,  sure  enough,  Andy  con- 
trived, while  the  seconds  were  engaged  with  each  other,  to 
put  a ball  into  each  pistol  before  the  barrel  was  loaded  with 
powder,  so  that  when  Dick  took  his  pistols  to  load,  a bul- 
let lay  between  the  powder  and  the  touch-hole.  Now,  this 
must  have  been  discovered  by  Dick,  had  he  been  cool;  but 
he  and  Tom  Durfy  had  wrangled  very  much  about  the 
point  they  had  been  discussing,  and  Dick,  at  no  time  the 
quietest  person  in  the  world,  was  in  such  a rage  that  the 
pistols  were  loaded  by  him  without  heeding  Andy's  ingen- 
ious interference,  and.  he  handed  a harmless  weapon  to  his 
brother-in-law  when  he  placed  him  on  his  ground. 

The  word  was  given.  Murtough,  following  his  friend's 


u 


HANDY  ANDY. 


advice,  fired  instantly — bang  be  went,  while  the  Squire  re- 
turned with  a flash  in  the  pan.  He  turned  a look  of  re- 
proach upon  Dick,  who  took  the  pistol  silently  from  him, 
and  handed  him  the  other,  having  carefully  looked  to  the 
priming  after  the  accident  which  happened  to  the  first. 

Durfy  handed  his  man  another  pistol  also;  and  before  he 
left  his  side,  said  in  a whisper,  66  Don't  forget — have  the 
first  fire." 

Again  the  word  was  given.  Murphy  blazed  away  a rapid 
and  harmless  shot;  for  his  hurry  was  the  Squire's  safety, 
while  Andy's  murderous  intentions  were  his  salvation. 

“ D — n the  pistol!"  said  the  Squire,  throwing  it  down  in 
a rage.  Dick  took  it  up  with  manifest  indignation,  and 
d d the  powder. 

Ci  Your  powder's  damp,  Ned." 

{c  No,  it's  not,"  said  the  Squire,  “ it's  you  who  have 
bungled  the  loading. " 

“ Me!"  said  Dick,  with  a look  of  mingled  rage  and 
astonishment.  “ / bungle  the  loading  of  pistols!  /,  that 
have  stepped  more  ground  and  arranged  more  affairs  than 
any  man  in  the  country!  Arrah,  be  aisy,  Ned!" 

Tom  Durfy  now  interfered,  and  said  for  the  present  it 
was  no  matter,  as,  on  the  part  of  his  friend,  he  begged  to 
express  himself  satisfied. 

“ But  it's  very  hard  tve’re  not  to  have  a shot,"  said 
Dick,  poking  the  touch-hole  of  the  pistol  with  a pricker, 
which  he  had  just  taken  from  the  case  which  Andy  was 
holding  before  him. 

“ Why,  my  dear  Dick,"  said  Durfy,  “ as  Murphy  has 
had  two  shots,  and  the  Squire  has  not  had.  the  return  of 
either,  he  declares  he  will  not  fire  at  him  again;  and, 
under  these  circumstances,  I must  take  my  man  off  the 
ground. " 

“ Very  well,"  said  Dick,  still  poking  the  touch-hole,  and 
examining  the  point  of  the  pricker  as  he  withdrew  it. 

“ And  now  Murphy  wants  to  know,  since  the  affair 
is  all  over  and  his  honor  satisfied,  what  was  your  brother- 
in-law's  motive  in  assaulting  him  this  morning,  for  he  him- 
self can  not  conceive  a cause  for  it." 

“ Oh,  be  aisy , Tom. " 

“ 'Pon  my  soul  it's  true!" 

“ Why,  he  sent  him  a blister— a regular  apothecary's 


HANDY  ANDY.  45 

blister — instead  of  some  law  process,  by  way  of  a joke,  and 
Ned  wouldn't  stand  it." 

Durfy  held  a moment's  conversation  with  Murphy,  who 
now  advanced  to  the  Squire,  and  begged  to  assure  him 
there  must  be  some  mistake  in  the  business,  for  that  he 
had  never  committed  the  impertinence  of  which  he  was 
accused. 

“ All  I know  is,"  said  the  Squire,  “ that  I got  a blister, 
which  my  messenger  said  you  gave  him." 

“ By  virtue  of  my  oath.  Squire,  I never  did  it!  I gave 
Andy  an  inclosure  of  the  law  process." 

“ Then  it's  some  mistake  that  vagabond  has  made," 
said  the  Squire.  “ Come  here,  you  sir!"  he  shouted  to 
Andy.  Now  Andy  at  this  moment  stood  trembling  under 
the  angry  eye  cf  Dick  the  Devil,  who,  having  detected  a 
bit  of  lead  on  the  point  of  the  pricker,  guessed  in  a mo- 
ment Andy  had  been  at  work,  and  the  unfortunate  rascal, 
from  the  furious  look  of  Dick,  had  a misgiving  that  he  had 
made  some  blunder.  66  Why  don't  you  come  here  when  I 
call  your"  said  the  Squire.  Andy  laid  down  the  pistol- 
case,  and  sneaked  up  to  the  Squire.  66  What  did  you  do 
with  the  letter  Mr.  Murphy  gave  you  for  me  yesterday?" 

“ I brought  it  to  your  honor. " 

“ No,  you  didn't,"  said  Murphy.  “ You've  made  some 
mistake. " 

“ Divil  a mistake  I made,"  answered  Andy,  very  stoutly. 
“ I wint  home  the  minit  you  gev  it  to  me." 

“ Did  vou  go  home  direct  from  my  house  to  the 
Squire's?" 

“ Yis,  sir,  I did — I went  direct  home,  and  called  at  Mr. 
M' Garry's  by  the  way  for  some  physic  for  the  childre." 

“That's  it!"  saidMurtough;  “ he  changed  my  inclosure 
for  a blister  there;  and  if  M' Garry  has  only  had  the  luck 
to  send  the  bit  o'  parchment  to  O'Grady,  it  will  be  the  best 
joke  I've  heard  this  month  of  Sundays. " 

“He  did!  he  did!"  shouted  Tom  Durfy;  “for  don't 
you  remember  how  O'Grady  was  after  M'Garry  this  morn- 
ing?" 

“ Sure  enough,"  said  Murtough,  enjoying  the  double 
mistake,  “ By  dad!  Andy,  you've  made  a mistake  this 
time  that  I'll  forgive  you." 

“By  the  powers  o' war!"  roared  Dick  the  Devil;  “I 
won't  forgive  him  wdiat  he  did  now,  though.  What  do  you 


46 


HANDY  ANDY. 


think?**  said  he,  holding  out  the  pistols,  and  growing 
crimson  with  rage,  “ may  I never  fire  another  shot,  if  he 
hasn*t  crammed  a brace  of  bullets  down  the  pistols  before  I 
loaded  them;  so  no  wonder  you  burned  prime,  Ned.** 
There  was  a universal  laugh  at  Dick*s  expense,  whose 
pride  in  being  considered  the  most  accomplished  regulator 
of  the  duello  was  well  known. 

“ Oh,  Dick,  Dick!  you* re  a pretty  second!**  was  shouted 
by  all. 

Dick,  stung  by  the  laughter,  and  feeling  keenly  the 
ridiculous  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  made  a rush  at 
Andy,  who,  seeing  the  storm  brewing,  gradually  sneaked 
away  from  the  group,  and  when  he  perceived  the  sudden 
movement  cf  Dick  the  Devil,  took  to  his  heels,  with  Dick 
after  him. 

“ Hurrah!**  cried  Murphy,  “ a race — a race!  1*11  bet 
on  Andy — five  pounds  on  Andy.** 

“ Done!**  said  the  Squire:  “ 1*11  back  Dick  the  Divil.  ** 
“ Tare  an*  ouns!**  roared  Murphy,  “ how  Andy  runs! 
Fear*s  a fine  spur.*5 

“ So  is  rage,**  said  the  Squire.  “ Dick*s  hot-foot  after 
him.  Will  you  double  the  bet?** 

“ Done!**  said  Murphy. 

The  infection  of  betting  caught  the  by-standers,  and 
various  gages  were  thrown  and  taken  up  upon  the  speed  of 
the  runners,  who  were  getting  rapidly  into  the  distance, 
flying  over  hedge  and  ditch  with  surprising  velocity,  and, 
from  the  level  nature  of  the  ground,  an  extensive  view 
could  not  be  obtained,  therefore  Tom  Durfy,  the  steeple- 
chaser, cried,  “ Mount,  mount!  or  weTl  lose  the  fun — into 
our  saddles,  and  after  them.  ** 

Those  who  had  steeds  took  the  hint,  and  a numerous 
field  of  horsemen  joined  in  the  pursuit  of  Handy  Andy  and 
Dick  the  Devil,  who  still  maintained  great  speed.  The 
horsemen  made  for  a neighboring  hill,  whence  they  could 
command  a wider  view;  and  the  betting  went  on  briskly, 
varying  according  to  the  vicissitudes  of  the  race. 

“ Two  to  one  on  Dick — he*s  closing.** 

“ Done!  Andy  will  wind  him  yet.** 

“ Well  done — there* s a leap!  Hurrah!  Dick*s  down! 
Well  done,  Dick! — up  again  and  going.** 

“ Mind  the  next  quickset  hedge — that*s  a rasper,  it*s  a 
wide  gripe,  and  the  hedge  is  as  thick  as  a wall — AndyTl 


HAHDY  AHDY. 


4? 


stick  in  it — mind  him — well  leaped,  by  the  powers!  Ha! 
he's  sticking  in  the  hedge — Dick'll  catch  him  now.  No, 
by  jingo!  he's  pushed  his  way  through — there's  he's  going 
on  again  on  the  other  side.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  look  at  him 
— he's  in  tatters!  he  has  left  half  of  his  breeches  in  the 
hedge!" 

“ Dick  is  oyer  now.  Hurrah!  he  has  lost  the  skirt  of 
his  coat!  Andy  is  gaining  on  him — two  to  one  on  Andy." 

“ Down  he  goes!"  was  shouted  as  Andy's  foot  slipped 
in  making  a dash  at  another  ditch,  into  which  he  went 
head  over  heels,  and  Dick  followed  fast,  and  disappeared 
after  him. 

“ Kide!  ride!"  shouted  Tom  Durfy;  and  the  horsemen 
put  their  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  their  steeds,  and  were 
soon  up  to  the  scene  of  action.  There  was  Andy,  rolling 
over  and  over  in  the  muddy  bottom  of  a ditch,  floundering 
in  rank  weeds  and  duck's  meat,  with  Dick  fastened  on 
him,  pummeling  away  most  unmercifully,  but  not  able  to 
kill  him  altogether,  for  want  of  breath. 

The  horsemen,  in  a universal  screech  of  laughter,  dis- 
mounted, and  disengaged  the  unfortunate  Andy  from  the 
fangs  of  Dick  the  Devil,  who  was  dragged  out  of  the  ditch 
much  more  like  a scavenger  than  a gentleman. 

The  moment  Andy  got  loose,  away  he  ran  again,  with  a 
rattling  “ Tally-ho!"  after  him,  and  he  never  cried  stop 
till  he  earthed  himself  under  his  mother's  bed  in  the  parent 
cabin. 

Murtough  Murphy  characteristically  remarked,  that  the 
affair  of  the  day  had  taken  a very  whimsical  turn:  “ Here 
are  you  and  I,  Squire,  who  went  out  to  shoot  each  other, 
safe  and  well,  while  one  of  the  seconds  has  come  off  rather 
the  worse  for  the  wear;  and  a poor  devil,  who  had  nothing 
to  say  to  the  matter  in  hand,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  is 
nearly  killed." 

The  Squire  and  Murtough  then  shook  hands,  and  parted 
friends  half  an  hour  after  they  had  met  as  foes;  and  even 
Dick  contrived  to  forget  his  annoyance  in  an  extra  stoup  of 
claret  that  day  after  dinner—  filling  more  than  one  bumper 
in  drinking  confusion  to  Handy  Andy,  which  seemed  a 
rather  unnecessary  malediction. 


48 


HAtfDY  AOT>Yo 


CHAPTER  rv. 

After  the  friendly  parting  of  the  foes  ( pro  tempore), 
there  was  a general  scatter  of  the  party  who  had  come  to 
see  the  duel:  and  how  strange  is  the  fact,  that  as  much  as 
human  nature  is  prone  to  shudder  at  death  under  the 
gentlest  circumstances,  yet  men  will  congregate  to  Iv.  its 
witnesses  when  violencaJ^gFayatas,  the  calamity!  A pub- 
lic execution  or  a duel  is  a focus  where  burning  cunosity 
concentrates;  in  the  latter  case,  Ireland  bears  the  palm  for 
a crowd;  in  the  former,  the  annals  of  the  Old  Bailey  can 
amply  testify.  Ireland  has  its  own  interest,  too,  in  a place 
of  execution,  but  not  in  the  same  degree  as  England.  They 
have  been  too  used  to  hanging  in  Ireland  to  make  it 
piquant:  “ toujours  perdrix  ” is  a saying  which  applies  in 
this  as  in  many  other  cases.  The  gallows,  in  its  palmy 
days,  was  shorn  of  its  terrors:  it  became  rather  a pastime. 
For  the  victim  it  was  a pastime  with  a vengeance;  for 
through  it  all  time  was  past  with  him.  For  the  rabble  who 
beheld  his  agony,  the  frequency  of  the  sight  had  blunted 
the  edge  of  horror,  and  only  sharpened  that  of  unnatural 
excitement.  The  great  school,  where  law  should  be  the 
respected  master,  failed  to  inspire  its  intended  awe;  the 
legislative  lesson  became  a mockery;  and  death,  instead  of 
frowning  with  terror,  grinned  in  a fool's  cap  from  the 
scaffold. 

This  may  be  doubted  now,  when  a milder  spirit  presides 
in  the  councils  of  the  nation  and  on  the  bench;  but  those 
Who  remember  Ireland  not  very  long  ago,  can  bear  witness 
how  lightly  life  was  valued,  or  death  regarded.  Illustra- 
tive of  this,  one  may  refer  to  the  story  of  the  two  basket- 
women  in  Dublin,  who  held  gentle  converse  on  the  subject 
of  an  approaching  execution. 

“ Won't  you  go  see  de  man  die  to-morrow,  J udy?" 

“ Oh,  no,  darlin',"  said  Judy.  (By  the  bye,  Judy  pro- 
nounced the  n through  her  nose,  and  said  u do.”) 

“ Ah  do,  jewel,"  said  her  friend. 

Judy  again  responded,  “ Do.” 

“ And.  why  won't  you  go,  dear?"  inquired  her  friend 
again. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


49 


“ Fve  to  wash  de  child,”  said  Judy. 

“ Sure,  didn't  youjy^sl\  it  last  week?''  said  her  friend, 
in  an  expostulatory  tone.  " * 

“ Oh,  well,  I won’t  go,”  said  Judy. 

“ Troth,  Judy,  you're  ruinin'  your  health,”  said  this 
soft-hearted  acquaintance;  “ dere's  a man  to  die  to-mor- 
row, and  you  won't  come — augh!  you  (fever  take  do  divar- 
shin!” 

And  wherefore  is  it  thus?  Why  should  tears  bedew  the 
couch  of  him  who  dies  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  surround- 
ed by  those  who  love  him,  whose  pillow  is  smoothed  by  the 
hand  of  filial  piety,  whose  past  is  without  reproach,  and 
whose  future  is  bright  with  hope?  and  why  should  dry  eyes 
behold  the  duelist  or  the  culprit,  in  whom  folly  or  guilt 
may  be  the  cause  of  a death  on  which  the  seal  of  censure  or 
infamy  may  be  set,  and  whose  futurity  we  must  tremble  to 
consider?  With  more  reason  might  we  weep  for  the  fate 
of  either  of  the  latter  than  the  former,  and  yet  we  do  not. 
And  why  is  it  so?  If  I may  venture  an  opinion,  it  is  that 
nature  is  violated:  a natural  death  demands  and  receives 
the  natural  tribute  of  tears;  but  a death  of  violence  falls 
with  a stunning  force  upon  the  nerves,  and  the  fountain  of 
pity  stagnates  and  will  not  flow. 

Though  there  was  a general  scattering  of  the  persons  who 
came  to  see  the  duel,  still  a good  many  rode  homeward  with 
Murphy,  who,  with  his  second,  Tom  Durfy,  beside  him, 
headed  the  party,  as  they  rode  gayly  toward  the  town,  and 
laughed  over  the  adventure  of  Andy  and  Dick. 

66  No  one  can  tell  how  anything  is  to  finish/'  said  Tom 
Durfy;  “ here  we  came  out  to  have  a duel,  and,  in  the 
end,  it  turned  out  a hunt.” 

“ I am  glad  you  were  not  in  at  my  death,  however,”  said 
Murphy,  who  seemed  particularly  happy  at  not  being 
killed. 

“ You  lost  no  time  in  firing,  Murtough,”  said  one  of  his 
friends. 

“ And  small  blame  to  me,  Billy,”  answered  Murphy; 
“ Egan  is  a capital  shot,  and  how  did  I know  but  he  might 
take  it  into  his  head  to  shoot  me?  for  he's  very  hot  when 
roused,  though  as  good-natured  a fellow  in  the  main  as  ever 
broke  bread;  and  yet  I don't  think,  after  all,  he'd  have 
liked  to  do  me  much  mischief  either;  but,  you  see,  he 
couldn't  stand  the  joke  he  thought  I played  him,” 


50 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Will  you  tell  us  what  it  was?”  cried  another  of  the 
party,  pressing  forward,  “ for  we  can't  make  it  out  exactly, 
though  we've  heard  something  of  it — wasn't  it  leeches  you 
sent  to  him,  telling  him  he  was  a blood-sucking  villain?'' 

A roar  of  laughter  from  Murtough  followed  this  question. 
“ Lord,  how  a story  gets  mangled  and  twisted!”  said  he, 
as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  “ Leeches!  what  an  absurdity! 
No,  it  was — '' 

“ A bottle  of  castor  oil,  wasn't  it,  by  way  of  a present  of 
noyeau?''  said  another  of  the  party,  hurrying  to  the  front 
to  put  forward  Ms  version  of  the  matter. 

A second  shout  of  laughter  from  Murphy  greeted  this 
third  edition  of  the  story.  “ If  you  will  listen  to  me.  I'll 
give  you  the  genuine  version,”  said  Murtough,  “ which  is 
better,  I promise  you,  than  any  which  invention  could  sup- 
ply. The  fact  is.  Squire  Egan  is  enraged  against  O' Grady, 
and  applied  to  me  to  harass  him  in  the  parchment  line, 
swearing  he  would  blister  him;  and  this  phrase  of  blister- 
ing occurred  so  often,  that  when-I^sent^  him  over  a bit  o* 
parchment,  which  he  engaged  to  have  served  on  my  bold 
O'Grady,  I wrote  to  him.  Dear  Squire,  I send  you  the 
blister;’  and  that  most  ingenious  of  all  blunderers.  Handy 
Andy,  being  the  bearer,  and  calling  at  M’Garry's  shop  on 
his  way  home,  picked  up  from  the  counter  a real  blister, 
which  was  folded  up  in  an  inclosure,  something  like  the 
process,  and  left  the  law-stinger  behind  him.” 

“ That's  great!”  cried  ^oyle. 

“ Oh,  but  you  have  not  heard  the  best  of  it  yet,”  added 
Murphy.  “ I am  certain  the  bit  of  parchment  was  sent  to 
O'Grady,  for  he  was  hunting  M'Garry  this  morning 
through  the  town,  with  a cudgel  of  portentous  dimensions 
— put  that  and  that  together. ' ’ 

“ No  mistake!”  cried  Doyle;  “ and  divil  pity  O'Grady, 
for  he's  a blustering,  swaggering,  overbearing,  ill-tem- 
pered— ” 

“ Hillo,  hillo.  Bill!”  interrupted  Murphy,  “ you  are  too 
hard  on  the  adjectives;  besides,  you'll  spoil  your  appetite 
if  you  ruffle  your  temper,  and  that  would  fret  me,  for  I in- 
tend you  to  dine  with  me  to-day.” 

“ Faith  an'  I'll  do  that  same,  Murtough,  my  boy,  and 
glad  to  be  asked^as  the  old  maid  said.  ” 

“ I'll  tell  you  vfflat  dtms,  — said  Murphy;  “ boys,  you 


HANDY  ANDY.  51 

must  all  dine  *witli  me  to-day,  and  drink  long  life  to  me, 
since  I'm  not  killed.” 

44  There  are  seventeen  of  us,”  said  Durfy;  44  the  little 
parlor  won't  hold  us  all.” 

44  But  isn't  there  a big  room  at  the  inn,  Tom?”  returned 
Murphy,  44  and  not  better  drink  in  Ireland  than  Mrs.  Fay's. 
What  do  you  say,  lads — one  and  all — will  you  dine  with 
ine?” 

44  Will  a duck  swim?”  chuckled  out  Jack  Horan,  an 
oily  veteran,  who  seldom  opened  his  mouth  but  to  put  some- 
thing into  it,  and  spared  his  words  as  if  they  were  of  value; 
and  to  make  them  appear  so,  lie  spoke  in  apothegms. 

44  What  say  you,  James  Beddy?”  said  Murtough. 

44  Beady,  sure  enough,  and  willing  too!”  answered 
James,  who  was  a small  wit,  and  made  the  aforesaid  play 
upon  his  name  at  least  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times 
every  year. 

44  Oh,  we'll  all  come,"  was  uttered  right  and  left. 

44  Good  men  and  true!”  shouted  Murphy;  66  won't  we 
make  the  rafters  shake,  and  turn  the  cellar  inside  out! 
Whoo!  I'm  in  great  heart  to-day.  But  who  is  this  powdher- 
ing  up  the  road?  By  the  great  powers!  'tis  the  doctor,  I 
think;  'tis — I know  his  bandy  hat  over  the  cloud  of  dust.” 

The  individual  thus  designated  as  the  doctor  now  emerged 
from  the  obscurity  in  which  he  had  been  enveloped,  and 
was  received  with  a loud  shout  by  the  whole  cavalcade  as 
he  approached  them.  Both  parties  drew  rein,  and  the 
doctor,  lifting  from  his  head  the  aforesaid  bandy  hat,  which 
was  slouched  over  one  eye,  with  a sinister  droop,  made  a 
low  obeisance  to  Murphy,  and  said,  with  a mock  solemnity, 
44  You  servant,  sir — and  so  you're  not  killed?” 

44  Ho,”  said  Murphy;  44  and  you've  lost  a job,  which  I 
see  you  came  to  look  for — but  you're  not  to  have  the  carv- 
ing of  me  yet.” 

46  Considering  it's  so  near  Michaelmas,  I think  you've 
had  a great  escape,  signor,”  returned  the  doctor. 

44  Sure  enough,"  said  Murphy,  laughing;  44  but  you're 
late  this  time : so  you  must  turn  back,  and  content  your- 
self with  carving  something  more  innocent  than  an  attorney 
to-day — though  at  an  attorney's  cost.  You  must  dine 
with  me.” 

__  44  Willingly,  signor,”  said  the  doctor;  44  but  pray  don't 


52 


HANDY  ANDY. 


make  use  of  the  word  6 cost/  I hate  to  hear  it  out  of  an 
attorney's  mouth — or  bill,  I should  say." 

A laugh  followed  the  doctor's  pleasantry,  but  no  smile 
appeared  upon  Ms  countenance;  for  though  uttering  quaint 
and  often  very  good,  but  oftener  very  bitter,  things,  he 
never  moved  a muscle  of  his  face,  while  others  were  shak- 
ing their  sides  at  his  sallies.  He  was,  in  more  ways  than 
one,  a remarkable  man.  A massive  head,  large  and  rather 
protruding  eyes,  lank  hair,  slouching  ears,  a short  neck, 
and  broad  shoulders,  rather  inclined  to  stooping,  a long 
body,  and  short  legs,  slightly  bowed,  constituted  his  out- 
ward man;  and  a lemon-colored  complexion,  which  a resi- 
dence of  some  years  in  the  East  Indies  had  produced,  did 
not  tend  to  increase  his  beauty.  His  mind  displayed  a 
superior  intelligence,  original  views,  contempt  of  received 
opinions,  with  a power  of  satire  and  ridicule,  which  ren- 
dered him  a pleasing  friend  or  a dangerous  enemy,  as  the 
case  might  be;  though,  to  say  the  truth,  friend  and  foe 
were  treated  with  nearly*  equal  severity,  if  a joke  or  a sar- 
casm tempted  the  assault.  His  own  profession  hated  him, 
for  he  unsparingly  ridiculed  all  stale  practice,  which  his 
conviction  led  him  to  believe  was  inefficient,  and  he  daring- 
ly introduced  fresh,  to  the  no  small  indignation  of  the  more 
cut  and  dry  portion  of  the  faculty,  for  whose  hate  he  re- 
turned contempt,  of  which  he  made  no  secret.  From  an 
extreme  coarseness  of  manner,  even  those  who  believed  in 
his  skill  were  afraid  to  trust  to  his  humor;  and  the  dislike 
of  his  brother-practitioners  to  meet  him  superadded  to  this, 
damaged  his  interest  considerably,  and  prevented  his  being 
called  in  until  extreme  danger  frightened  patients,  or  their 
friends,  into  sending  for  Dr.  Growling.  His  carelessness 
in  dress,  too,  inspired  disgust  in  the  fair  portion  of  the 
creation;  and  66  snuffy  " and  “ dirty,"  66  savage  " and 
“ brute,"  were  among  the  sweet  words  they  applied  to  him. 

Nevertheless,  those  who  loved  a joke  more  than  they 
feared  a hit,  would  run  the  risk  of  an  occasional  thrust  of 
the  doctor's  stiletto,  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  the  mangling 
he  gave  other  people;  and  such  rollicking  fellows  as  Mur- 
phy and  Durfy,  and  Dawson,  and  Squire  Egan  petted  this 
social  hedge-hog. 

The  doctor  now  turned  his  horse's  head,  and  joined  the 
cavalcade  to  the  town.  “ I have  blown  my  Kozinante/' 
said  he;  “ I was  in  such  a hurry  to  see  the  fun." 


HANDY  ANDY# 


S3 


“ Yes/ 3 said  Murphy,  “ he  smokes.** 

“ And  his  master  takes  snuff/*  said  the  doctor,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word.  “ I suppose,  signor,  you  were 
thinking  a little  while  ago  that  the  Squire  might  serve  an 
ejectment  on  your  vitality?** 

“ Or  that  in  the  trial  between  us  I might  get  damages,** 
said  Murphy. 

“ There  is  a difference,  in  such  case/*  said  the  doctor, 
“ between  a court  of  law  and  the  court  of  honor;  for  in  the 
former,  the  man  is  plaintiff  before  he  gets  his  damages, 
while  in  the  latter,  it  is  after  he  gets  his  damages  that  he 
complains.** 

“ I*m  glad  my  term  is  not  ended,  however/*  said  Mur- 
phy. 

“ If  it  had  been/*  said  the  doctor,  “ I think  you*d  have 
had  a long  vacation  in  limbo.** 

“And  suppose  I had  been  hit/*  said  Murphy,  “you 
would  have  been  late  on  the  ground.  You*re  a pretty 
friend!** 

“ It's  my  luck,  sir/*  said  the  doctor;  “ I*m  always  late 
for  a job.  By  the  bye,  1*11  tell  you  an  amusing  fact  of  that 
musty  piece  of  humanity.  Miss  Jinkins.  Her  niece  was 
dangerously  ill,  and  she  had  that  licensed  slaughterer  from 
Killanmaul  trying  to  tinke/her  up,  till  the  poor  girl  was 
past  all  hope,  and  then  she  sends  for  me.  She  swore,  some 
time  ago,  I should  never  darken  her  doors;  but  when  she 
began  to  apprehend  that  death  was  rather  a darker  gentle- 
man than  I,  she  tolerated  my  person.  The  old  crocodile 
met  me  in  the  hall — by  the  bye,  did  you  ever  remark  she*s 
like  a crocodile,  only  not  with  so  pleasing  an  expression? — 
and  wringing  her  hands  she  cried,  6 Oh,  doctor,  1*11  be 
bound  to  you  forever!*— I hope  not,  thought  I to  myself, 
6 Save  my  Jemima,  doctor,  and  there  *s  nothing  I won*t  do 
to  prove  my  gratitude.*  6 Is  she  long  ill,  ma*am?**  said  I. 
6 A fortnight,  doctor.  * 6 I wish  I had  been  called  in  sooner, 
ma*am,*  says  I — for,  *pon  my  conscience,  Murphy,  it  is 
too  ridiculous  the  way  the  people  go  on  about  me.  I verily 
believe  they  think  I can  raise  people  out  of  their  graves; 
and  they  call  me  in  to  repair  the  damages  disease  and  the 
doctors  have  been  making;  and  while  the  gentlemen  in 
black  silk  stockings^  with  gold-headed  canes,  have  been 
fobbing  fees  for  three  weeks,  perhaps,  they  call  in  poor 
Jack  Growling,  who  scorns  Jack-a-dandyism,  and  he  gets 


54 


HAKDY  AtfDY. 


a solitary  guinea  for  mending  the  bungling  that  cost  some- 
thing to  the  tune  of  twenty  or  thirty  perhaps.  And  when 
I have  plucked  them  from  the  jaws  of  death — regularly 
cheated  the  sexton  out  of  them — the  best  word  they  have 
for  me  is  to  call  me  a pig,  or  abuse  my  boots,  or  wonder 
that  the  doctor  is  not  more  particular  about  his  linen — the 
fools!  But  to  return  to  my  gentle  crocodile.  I was  shown 
upstairs  to  the  sick-room,  and  there,  sir,  I saw  the  unfort- 
unate girl,  speechless,  at  the  last  gasp  absolutely.  The 
Killanmaul  dandy  had  left  her  to  die — absolutely  given 
her  up;  and  then , indeed,  Fm  sent  for!  Well,  I was  in  a 
rage,  and  was  rushing  out  of  the  house,  when  the  crocodile 
waylaid  me  in  the  hall.  6 Oh,  doctor,  won’t  you  do  some- 
thing for  my  Jemima?’  ‘ I can’t,  ma’am,’  says  I;  6 but 
Mr.  Fogarty  can.’  ‘Mr.  Fogarty!’  says  she.  ‘ Yes, 
ma’am,’  says  I.  ‘ You  have  mistaken  my  profession.  Miss 
Jinkins — I’m  a doctor,  ma’am;  but  I suppose  you  took  me 
for  an  undertaker  /’  ” 

“ Well,  you  hit  her  hard,  doctor,”  said  Murphy. 

“ Sir,  you  might  as  well  hit  a rhinoceros,”  returned  the 
doctor. 

“ When  shall  we  dine?”  asked  Jack  Horan. 

“ As  soon  as  Mrs.  Fay  can  let  us  have  the  eatables,”  an- 
swered Murphy;  “ and,  by  the  bye.  Jack,  I leave  the  order- 
ing of  the  dinner  to  you,  for  no  man  understands  better 
how  to  do  that  same;  besides,  I W’ant  to  leave  my  horse  in 
my  own  stable,  and  I’ll  be  up  at  the  inn,  after  you,  in  a 
brace  of  shakes.” 

The  troop  now  approached  the  town.  Those  who  lived 
there  rode  to  their  own  stables,  and  returned  to  the  party 
at  Mrs.  Fay’s:  while  they  who  resided  at  a distance  dis- 
mounted at  the  door  of  the  inn,  which  soon  became  a scene 
of  bustle  in  all  its  departments  from  this  large  influx  of 
guests;  and  the  preparation  for  the  dinner,  exceeding  in 
scale  what  Mrs.  Fay  was  generally  called  upon  to  provide, 
except  when  the  assizes,  or  races,  or  other  such  cause  of 
commotion,  demanded  all  the  resources  of  her  establish- 
ment, and  more,  if  she  had  them.  So  the  Dinnys,  and 
the  Tims,  and  the  Mickeys  were  rubbing  down  horses, 
cleaning  knives,  or  drawing  forth  extra  tables  from  their 
dusty  repose;  and  the  Biddys,  and  Judys,  and  Nellys  were 
washing  up  plates,  scouring  pans,  and  brightening  up  extra 
candlesticks,  or  doing  deeds  of  doom  in  the  poultry-yard. 


HANDY  ANDY.  5$ 

where  an  audible  commotion  gave  token  of  the  premature 
deaths  of  sundry  supernumerary  chickens. 

Murphy  soon  joined  his  guests,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear, 
and  rubbing  his  hands  as  he  entered. 

“ Great  news,  boys,”  said  he;  “ who  do  you  think  was 
at  my  house,  when  I got  home,  but  M' Garry,  with  his 
head  bandaged  up,  and  his  whole  body,  as  he  declares, 
bearing  black  and  blue  testimony  to  the  merciless  attack  of 
the  bold  O'  Grady,  against  whom  he  swears  he'll  bring  an 
action  for  assault  and  battery.  Now,  boys,  I thought  it 
would  be  great  fun  to  have  him  here  to  dinner — it’s  as 
good  as  a play  to  hear  him  describe  the  thrashing — so  I 
asked  him  to  come.  He  said  he  was  not  in  a fit  state  to 
dine  out;  but  I egged  him  on  by  saying  that  a sight  of  him 
in  his  present  plight  would  excite  sympathy  for  him,  and 
stir  up  public  feeling  against  O'  Grady,  and  that  all  would 
tell  in  the  action,  as  most  likely  some  of  the  present  com- 
pany might  be  on  the  jury,  and  would  be  the  better  able 
to  judge  how  far  he  was  entitled  to  damages,  from  witness- 
ing the  severity  of  the  injury  he  had  received.  So  he's 
coming;  and  mind,  you  must  all  be  deeply  affected  at  his 
sufferings,  and  impressed  with  the  poiverful  description  he 
gives  of  the  same." 

“ Very  scientific,  of  course,”  said  old  Growling. 

“Extensively  so,”  returned  Murphy;  “he  laid  on  the 
Latin  heavy.” 

“ Yes — the  fool!"  growled  the  doctor:  “ he  can't  help 
sporting  it  even  on  me.  I went  into  his  shop  one  day,  and 
asked  for  some  opium  wine,  and  he  could  not  resist  calling 
it  vinum  Ojpii  as  he  handed  it  to  me." 

“ We'll  make  him  a martyr!"  cried  Durfy. 

“We'll  make  him  dhrunk!"  said  Jack  Horan,  “and 
that  will  be  better.  He  brags  that  he  never  was  what  he 
calls  6 inebriated'  in  his  life;  and  it  will  be  great  fun  to 
send  him  home  on  a door,  with  a note  to  his  wife,  who  is 
proud  of  his  propriety." 

As  they  spoke,  M' Garry  entered,  his  head  freshly  bound 
up,  to  look  as  genteel  as  possible  amongst  the  gentlemen 
with  whom  he  was  to  have  the  honor  of  dining.  His  wife 
had  suggested  a pink  ribbon,  but  M' Garry,  while  acknowl- 
edged his  wife's  superior  taste,  said  black  would  look  more 
professional.  The  odd  fellows  to  whom  he  had  now  com- 
mitted himself,  crowded  round  him,  and,  in  the  most  Q&t 


S0 


HANDY  ANDY. 


aggerated  phrases,  implied  the  high  sense  they  entertained 
of  his  wrongs  and  0 'Grady's  aggression. 

“ Unprovoked  attack!”  cried  one. 

€C  Savage  ruffian!"  ejaculated  another. 

“ What  atrocity!' ' said  a third. 

What  dignified  composure!”  added  a fourth,  in  an  au- 
dible whisper,  meant  for  M'Garry's  ear. 

“ Gentlemen!"  said  the  apothecary,  flurried  at  the  ex- 
treme attention  of  which  he  became  the  object;  “ I beg  to 
assure  you  I am  deeply — that  is — this  proof  of — of— of — of 
symptoms — gentlemen— I mean  sympathy,  gentlemen — in 
short,  I really — " 

“ The  fact  is/'  said  Growling,  **  I see  Mr.  M' Garry  is 
rather  shaken  in  nerve — whether  from  loss  of  blood  or — ” 

“ I have  lost  a quantity  of  blood,  doctor,”  said  M 'Gar- 
ry, “ much  vascular,  to  say  nothing  of  extravasated.” 

“ Which  I'll  state  in  my  case,”  said  Murphy. 

“ Murphy,  don't  interrupt,”  said  Growling,  who,  with 
a very  grave  face,  recommenced:  “ Gentlemen,  from  the 
cause  already  stated,  I see  Mr.  M'  Garry  is  not  prepared  to 
answer  the  outpouring  of  feeling  with  which  you  have 
greeted  him,  and  if  I might  be  permitted — ” 

Every  one  shouted,  “ Certainly — certainly!” 

“ Then  as  I am  permitted,  I will  venture  to  respond  for 
Mr.  M'  Garry,  and  address  you,  as  he  would  address  you. 
In  the  words  of  Mr.  M' Garry,  I would  say— Gentlemen — 
unaccustomed  as  I am  ” — Some  smothered  laughter  fol- 
lowed this  beginning;  upon  which  the  doctor,  with  a mock 
gravity,  proceeded — 

“ Gentlemen,  this  interruption  I consider  to  be  an  in- 
fringement on  the  liberty  of  the  subject.  I recommence, 
therefore,  in  the  words  of  my  honorable  and  wounded 
friend,  and  our  honorable  and  wounded  feelings,  and  say, 
as  my  friend  would  say,  or,  to  speak  classically,  M' Garry 
loquitur — " 

The  apothecary  bowed  his  head  to  the  bit  of  Latin,  and 
the  doctor  continued— 

“ Gentlemen — unaccustomed  to  public  thrashing,  you 
can  conceive  what  my  feelings  are  at  the  present  moment, 
in  mind  and  body.  [Bravo!]  You  behold  an  outrage 
[much  confusion] ! Shall  an  exaggerated  savagery  like 
this  escape  punishment,  and  * the  calm,  sequestered  vale ' 
(as  the  poet  calls  it)  of  private  life  be  ravaged  with  impu* 


HAHDY  AHDY. 


5? 


niiy?  [Bravo,  bravo  /]  Are  the  learned  professions  to  be 
trampled  under  foot  by  barbarian  ignorance  and  brutality? 
No;  I read  in  the  indignant  looks  of  my  auditory  their 
high-souled  answers.  Gentlemen,  your  sympathy  is  better 
than  diachylon  to  my  wounds,  and  this  is  the  proudest  day 
of  my  life. 99 

Thunders  of  applause  followed  the  doctors  address;  and 
every  one  shook  M' Garry’s  hand,  till  his  bruised  bones 
ached  again.  Questions  poured  upon  him  from  all  sides  as 
to  the  nature  and  quantity  of  his  drubbing,  to  all  of  which 
M'  Garry  innocently  answered  in  terms  of  exaggeration, 
spiced  with  scienti^c  phrases.  Muscles,  tendons,  bones, 
and  sinews,  were  particularized  with  the  precision  of  an 
anatomical  demonstration;  he  swore  he  was  pulverized, 
and  paralyzed,  and  all  the  other  lies  he  could  think  of. 

“ A large  stick  you  say?”  said  Murphy. 

“ Sir!  I never  saw  such  a stick — 't was  like  a weavers 
beam!” 

“ Fll  make  a note  of  that,”  said  Murphy.  “ A weav- 
ers beam — '’twill  tell  well  with  a jury.” 

“ And  beat  you  all  over?”  said  Durfy. 

“ From  shoulder  to  flank,  sir,  I am  one  mass  of  welts 
and  weals;  the  abrasures  are  extensive,  the  bruises  terrific, 
particularly  in  the  lumbar  region.  ” 

“ Where's  that?”  asked  Jack  Horan. 

“ The  lumbar  region  is  what  is  commonly  called  the 
loins,  sir.” 

“ Not  always,”  said  the  doctor.  “ It  varies  in  different 
subjects;  I have  known  some  people  whose  lumber  region 
lay  in  the  head.  ” 

“ You  laugh,  gentlemen,”  said  M' Garry,  with  a mourn- 
ful smile;  “ but  you  know  the  doctor — he  will  be  jocular.” 
He  then  continued  to  describe  the  various  other  regions  of 
his  injuries,  amidst  the  well-acted  pity  and  indignation  of 
the  queer  fellows  who  drew  him  out,  until  they  were  satu- 
rated, so  far,  with  the  fun  of  the  subject.  After  which, 
Murphy,  whose  restless  temperament  could  never  let  him 
be  quiet  for  a moment,  suggested  that  they  should  divert 
themselves  before  dinner  with  a badger-fight. 

“ Isn't  one  fight  a day  enough  for  you,  signor?”  said 
the  doctor. 

“ It  is  not  every  day  we  get  a badger,  you  know,”  said 
Murphy;  “ and  I heard  just  now  from  Tim  the  waiter  that 


58  HANDY  AND*!?. 

there  is  a horse-dealer  lately  arrived  at  the  stables  here, 
who  has  a famous  one  with  him,  and  I know  Reilly  the 
butcher  has  two  or  three  capital  dogs,  and  there’s  a wicked 
mastiff  below  stairs,  and  I’ll  send  for  my  ‘ buffer,  ’and 
we’ll  have  some  spanking  sport.” 

He  led  his  guests  then  to  the  inn-yard,  and  the  horse- 
dealer,  for  a consideration,  allowed  his  badger  to  wage 
battle;  the  noise  of  the  affair  spread  through  the  town, 
while  they  were  making  their  arrangements,  and  sending 
right  and  left  for  dogs  for  the  contest;  and  a pretty  con- 
siderable crowd  soon  assembled  at  the  place  of  action, 
where  the  hour  before  dinner  was  spent  in  the  intellectual 
amusement  of  a badger-fight. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

The  fierce  yells  of  the  badger-fight  ringing  far  and  wide 
soon  attracted  a crowd,  which  continued  to  increase  every 
minute  by  installments  of  men  and  boys,  who  might  be  seen 
running  across  a small  field  by  the  road-side,  close  to  the 
scene  of  action,  which  lay  at  the  back  of  the  inn;  and 
heavy-caped  and  skirted  frieze  coats  streamed  behind  the 
full-grown,  while  the  rags  of  the  gossoons*  fluttered  in  the 
race.  Attracted  by  this  evidence  of  “ something  going 
on,”  a horseman,  who  was  approaching  the  town,  urged  his 
horse  to  speed,  and  turning  his  head  toward  a yawning 
double  ditch  that  divided  the  road  from  the  field,  he  grace- 
fully rode  the  noble  animal  over  the  spanking  leap. 

The  rider  was  Edward  O’Connor;  and  he  was  worthy  of 
his  name — the  pure  blood  oQhat  royal  raee_was  in  his 
heart,  which  never  harbored  a/sentimenFThat  could  do  it 
dishonor,  and  overflowed  with  feelings  which  ennoble  hu- 
man nature,  and  make  us  proud  of  our  kind!  He  was 
young  and  handsome;  and  as  he  sat  his  mettled  horse,  no 
lady  could  deny  that  Edward  O’Connor  was  the  very  type 
of  the  gallant  cavalier.  Though  attached  to  every  manly 
sport  and  exercise,  his  mind  was  of  a refined  order;  and  a 
youth  passed  amidst  books  and  some  of  the  loveliest  scenery 
in  Ireland  had  nurtured  the  poetic  feeling  with  which  his 
mind  was  gifted,  and  which  found  its  vent  in  many  a love- 


* Boys. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


59 


taught  lyric,  or  touching  ballad,  or  spirit-stirring  song, 
whose  theme  was  national  glory.  To  him  the  by-gone  days 
of  his  country's  history  were  dear,  made  more  familiar  by 
many  an  antique  relic  which  hung  around  his  own  room  in 
his  father's  house.  Celt,  and  sword,  and  spear-head  of 
Phoenician  bronze,  and  golden^gorgcf and  bodkin, 

and  ancient  harp,  and  studded  crosier,  were  there;  and 
these  time-worn  evidences  of  arts,  and  arms,  and  letters 
flattered  the  affection  with  which  he  looked  back  on  the 
ancient  history  of  Ireland,  and  kept  alive  the  ardent  love 
of  his  country  with  which  he  glowed — a love  too  deep,  too 
pure,  to  be  likely  to  expire,  even  without  the  aid  of  such 
poetic  sources  of  excitement.  To  him  the  names  of  Fitz- 
gerald, and_Desmondr~an^d^  there 

was  no  romantic  legend  of  the  humble  outlaws  with  which 
he  was  not  familiar:  and  “Charley  of  the  Horses,"  and 
“ Ned  of  the  Hill,"  but  headed  the  list  of  names  he  loved 
to  recall;  and  the  daring  deeds  of  bold  spirits  who  held 
the  hill-side  for  liberty,  were  often  given  in  words  of  poetic 
fire  from  the  lips  of  Edward  O'Connor. 

And  yet  Edward  O'Connor  went  to  see  the  badger-fight. 

There  is  something  inherent ^ injnan's  nature,  urging  him 
to  familiarize  himself  with  crueltyT~and,  perhaps,  without 
such  a power  of '^tnSssmg^savage  deeds,  he  would  be  un- 
equal to  the  dominion  for  which  he  was  designed.  Men  of 
the  highest  order  of  intellect  the  world  has  known  have 
loved  the  chase.  How  admirably  Scott  displays  this  tend- 
ency of  noble  minds,  in  the  meeting  of  Ellen  with  her 
father,  when  Douglas  says — 

“ The  chase  I followed  far; 

Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war.” 

And  the  effect  of  this  touch  of  character  is  heightened  by 
Douglas  in  a subsequent  scene — Douglas,  who  could  enjoy 
the  sport  which  ends  in  death,  bending  over  his  gentle 
child,  and  dropping  tears  of  the  tenderest  affection — tears 
which 

“ Would  not  stain  an  angel’s  cheek.” 

Superadded  to  this  natural  tendency,  Edward  O'Connor 
had  an  additional  motive.  He  lived  amongst  a society  of 
sporting  men,  less  cultivated  than  he  was,  whose  self-esteem 
Would  have  easily  ignited  the  spark  of  jealousy  if  he  had 


60 


HANDY  ANDY. 


seemed  to  scorn  the  things  which  made  their  principal  en- 
joyment, and  formed  the  chief  occupation  of  their  lives; 
and  his  good  sense  and  good  heart  (and  there  is  an  intimate 
connection  between  them)  pointed  out  to  him  that,  wherever 
your  lot  is  cast,  duty_to_yourself  Others  suggests  the 
( propriety  of^adaptni^jour  conduct  to  the^circ^  in 

) K which  you  are^laced  (soTong  as  morality  and  decency  are 
y not  violated),  and  that  TEemanifestation  of  one's  own 
superiority  may  jrender  the  purchase  too  dear,  by  being 
S bought  at  the  t er rhjlFprica 51  h u rlieighbbrs'' dislike.  He, 
therefore,  did  not  tell  everybody  he  wrote  verses;  he  kept 
the  gift  as  secret  as  he  could.  If  an  error,  however  gross, 
on  any  subject,  were  made  in  his  presence,  he  never  took 
willing  notice  of  it;  or  if  circumstances  obliged  him  to 
touch  upon  it,  it  was  always  done  with  a politeness  and  tact 
that  afforded  the  blunderer  the  means  of  retreat.  If  some 
gross  historical  error,  for  instance,  happened  to  be  com- 
mitted in  a conversation  with  himself  (and  then  only),  he 
would  set  the  mistake  right,  as  a matter  of  conscience,  but 
he  would  do  so  by  saying  there  was  a great  similiarity 
between  the  event  spoken  of  and  some  other  event.  “1 
know  what  you  are  thing  of,"  he  would  say,  “but  you 
make  a slight  mistake  in  the  dates;  the  two  stories  are  very 
similar,  and  likely  to  mislead  one." 

But  with  all  this  modest  reserve,  did  the  least  among  his 
companions  think  him  the  less  clever?  No.  It  was 
shrewdly  suspected  he  was  a poet;  it  was  well  known  he 
was  highly  educated  and  accomplished;  and  yet  Edward 
O'Connor  was  a universal  favorite,  bore  the  character  of 
being  a “ real  fine  fellow,"  and  was  loved  and  respected  by 
the  most  illiterate  of  the  young  men  of  the  country;  who, 
in  allusion  to  his  extensive  lore  on  the  subject  of  the  legend- 
ary heroes  of  the  romantic  history  of  Ireland,  his  own 
Christian  name,  and  his  immediate  place  of  residence, 
which  was  near  a wild  mountain  pass,  christened  him 
“ Ned  of  the  Hill." 

His  appearance  anudst  the  crowd  assembled  to  witness 
the  rude  sport  was  hailed  with  pleasure — varying  from  the 
humble  but  affectionate  respect  of  the  peasant,  who  cried 
“ Long  life  to  you,  Misther  O'Connor,"  to  the  hearty  burst 
of  equality,  which  welcomed  him  as  “ Ned  of  the  Hill." 

The  fortune  of  the  fight  favored  the  badger,  who  proved 
himself  a trump;  and  Murphy  appreciated  his  worth  so 


HANDY  ANDY. 


61 


highly  that,  when  the  battle  was  oyer,  he  would  not  quit 
the  ground  until  he  became  his  owner,  at  a high  price  to 
the  horse-dealer.  His  next  move  was  to  insist  on  Edward 
O’Connor  dining  with  him;  and  Edward,  after  many  ex- 
cuses to  avoid  the  party  he  foresaw  would  be  a drinking 
bout — of  which  he  had  a special  horror,  notwithstanding 
all  his  toleration — yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  Murphy,  and 
consented  to  be  his  guest,  just  as  Tim  the  waiter  ran  up, 
steaming  from  every  pore,  to  announce  that  the  dinner  was 
“ ready  to  be  sarved.” 

“Then  sarve  it,  sir,”  said  Murphy,  “and  sarve  it 
right.” 

Qff  cantered  Tim,  steaming  and  snorting  like  a locomo- 
tive engine,  and  the  party  followed  to  the  inn,  where  along 
procession  of  dish-  bearers  was  ascending  the  stairs  to  the 
big  room,  as  Murphy  and  his  friends  entered. 

The  dinner  it  is  needless  to  describe.  One  dinner 

is  the  same  as  another in  the  most  essential  points. 

namely,  to  satisfy  him^r^and  slake  consequent  thirst; 
and  whether  beef  "heavy  wet,  are 

to  conquer  the  dragon  of  appetite,  or  your  stomach  is  to 
sustain  the  more  elaborate  attack  fired  from  the  latterie  de 
cuisine  of  a finished  artiste , and  moistened  with  cham- 
pagne, the  difference  is  only  of  degree  in  the  fashion  of  the 
thing  and  the  tickling  of  the  palate;  hunger  is  as  thorough- 
ly satisfied  with  one  as  with  the  other;  and_Jheadaches  as 
well  manufacture  out  of  the  beautiful.  brigHtJahffTaper 
glasses  which  bear  theToam  of  France  to  the  lip,  as  from 
the  coarse,  flat-bottomed  tumblers  of  an  inn  that  reek  with 
punch.  At  the  dinner  there  was  the  same  tender  solicitude 
on  the  part  of  the  carvers  as  to  “ Where  would  you  like  it?” 
and  the  same  carelessness  on  the  part  of  those  whom  they 
questioned,  who  declared  they  had  no  choice,  “ but  if  there 
was  a little  bit  near  the  shank,”  etc.,  or  “if  there  was  a 
liver  wing  to  spare.”  By  the  way,  some  carvers  there  are 
who  push  an  aspirant’s  patience  too  far.  I have  seen  some 
who,  after  giving  away  both  wings,  and  all  the  breast,  twro 
sidebones,  and  the  short  legs^  meet  the  eager  look  of  the 
fifth  man  on  theixJeft  with  a sraiTe,  and  ask  him,  with  an 
effrontery  worthy  of  theTDld Bailey,  “ Iiasjie  anychoipe?” 
and,  at  the  same  time,  toss  a d_rum-stick  on^Ete'destined 
plate,  or  boldly  attempt  to  divert  his  melancholy  with  a 
merry-thought.  All  this,  and  more*  was  there  at  Mur- 


62 


HANDY  ANDY. 


tough  Murphy’s  dinner,  long  memorable  in  the  country 
from  a frolic  that  wound  up  the  evening,  which  soon  began 
to  warm,  after  the  cloth  was  removed,  into  the  sort  of  a 
thing  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  a jollification.  But 
before  the  dinner  v/as  over,  poor  M’Garry  was  nearly 
pickled;  Jack  Horan,  being  jdotermined  to  make  him 
drunk,  arranged  a system  of  attack  on  M’Garry’s  sobriety 
which  bade  defiance  to  his  prudencq^fco  withstand.  It  was 
agreed  that  every  one  should  ask  the  apothecary  to  take 
wine;  and  he,  poor  innocent  man!  when  gentlemen  whom 
he  had  never  had  the  honor  to  meet  at  dinner  before  ad- 
dressed him  with  a winning  smile,  and  said,  “Mr.  M’Gar- 
ry,  will  you  do  me  th ejionor  ?”  could  not  do  less  than  fill 
his  glass  every  time;  so  that,  to"  use"  Jack  Horan’s  own 
phrase,  the  apothecary  was  “ sewed  up  ” before  he  had 
any  suspicion  of  the  fact;  and,  unused  to  the  indications  of 
approaching  vinous  excitement,  he  sujDposed  it  was  the  de- 
lightful society  made  him  so  hilarious,  and  he  began  to 
launch  forth  after  dinner  in  a manner  quite  at  variance 
with  the  reserve  he  usually  maintained  in  the  presence  of 
his  superiors,  and  talked  largely.  Now,  M’Garry’s  princi- 
pal failing  was  to  make  himself  app^ax^u^Ioamad  in  his 
profession;  and  every  new  discovery  in  chemistry,  opera- 
tion in  surgery,  or  scientific  experiment  ire  heard  of,  he  was 
prone  to  shove  in,  head  and  shoulders,  in  his  soberest  mo- 
ments; but  now  that  he  was  half  drunk,  he  launched  forth 
on  the  subject  of  galvanism,  having  read  of  some  recent 
wonderful  effects  produced  on  the  body  of  a recent  murder- 
er who  was  hanged  and  given  over  to  the  College  of  Sur- 
geons in  Dublin.  To  impress  the  company  still  more  with 
a sense  of  his  learning,  he  addressed  Growling  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  doctor  played  him  off  to  advantage. 

“ Don’t  you  think  it  very  wonderful,  doctor?”  inquired 
M’Garry,  speaking  somewhat  thickly. 

“ Very,”  answered  the  doctor,  dryly. 

“ They  say,  sir,  the  man — that  is,  the  subject — when  un- 
der the  influence  of  the  battery,  absolutely  twiddled  his 
left  foot,  and  raised  his  right  arm.” 

“ And  raised  it  to  some  purpose,  too,”  said  the  doctor; 
“ for  he  raised  a contusion  on  the  Surgeon-General’s  eye, 
having  hit  him  over  the  same.  ” 

“ Dear  me! — I did  not  hear  that.” 

“It  is  true,  however,”  said  the  doctor;  “and  that  gives 


HANDY  ANDY. 


you  an  idea  of  the  power  of  the  galvanic  influence,  for  you 
know  the  Surgeon-General  is  a powerful  man,  and  yet  he 
could  not  hold  him  down.  ” 

“ Wonderful!”  hiccoughed  M'Garry. 

“ But  that's  nothing  to  what  happened  in  London,”  con- 
tinued the  doctor.  “ They  experimented  there  the  other 
day  with  a battery  of  such  power,  that  the  man  who  was 
hanged  absolutely  jumped  up,  seized  a scalpel  from  the 
table,  and  making  a rush  on  the  assembled  Faculty  of 
London,  cleared  the  theater  in  less  than  no  time;  dashed 
into  the  hall;  stabbed  the  porter  who  attempted  to  stop 
him;  made  a chevy  down  the  south  side  of  Leicester  Square; 
and  as  he  reached  the  corner,  a woman,  who  was  carrying 
tracts  published  by  the  Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Vice, 
shrieked  at  beholding  a man  in  so  startling  a condition, 
and  fainted;  he,  with  a presence  of  mind  perfectly  admira- 
ble, whipped  the  cloak  from  her  back,  and  threw  it  round 
him,  and  scudding  through  the  tortuous  alleys  which 
abound  in  that  neighborhood,  made  his  way  to  the  house 
where  the  learned  Society  of  Noviomagians  hold  their  con- 
vivial meetings,  and,  telling  thu'dandfei^that  he  was  in- 
vited there  to  dinner  as  a curiosity,  he  gained  admittance, 
and,  it  is  supposed,  took  his  opportunity  for  escaping,  for 
he  has  not  since  been  heard  of.” 

“ Good  Heaven!”  gasped  M'Gari^;  “ and  do  you  believe 
that,  doctor?” 

“Most  firmly,  sir!  My  belief  is,  that  galvanism  is,  in 
fact,  the  original  principle  of  vitality.” 

“Should  we  not  rejoice,  doctor,”  cried  M'Garry,  “at 
this  triumph  of  science?” 

“I  don't  think  you  should,  Mister  M'Garry,”  said  the 
doctor,  gravely;  “for  it  would  utterly  destroy  your  branch 
of  the  profession;  pharmacopolists,  instead  of  compound- 
ing medicine,  must  compound  with  their  creditors;  they 
are  utterly  ruined.  Mercury  is  no  longer  to  be  in  the  as- 
cendant; all  doctors  have  to  do  now  is  to  carry  a small  bat- 
tery about  them,  a sort  of  galvanic  pocket-pistol,  I may 
say,  and  restore  the  vital  principle  by  its  application.” 
“You  are  not  serious,  doctor?”  saidM'Garry,  becoming 
very  serious,  with  that  wise  look  so  peculiar  to  drunken 
men. 

“ Never  more  serious  in  my  life,  sir.” 

“ That  would  be  dreadful,”  said  M'Garry. 


64 


HANDY  ANDY. 


cc  Shocking , you  mean,"  said  the  doctor. 

“ Leave  oil  your  confounded  scientifics  there,"  shouted 
Murphy  from  the  head  of  the  table,  “ and  let  us  have  a 
song." 

“ I can't  sing,  indeed.  Mister  Murphy,"  said  M'Garry, 
who  became  more  intoxicated  every  moment;  for  he  com 
tinued  to  drink,  having  overstepped  the  boundary  which 
custom  had  prescribed  to  him. 

“ I didn't  ask  you,  man,"  said  Murphy;  “but  my  darling 
fellow,  Ned  here,  will  gladden  our  hearts  and  ears  with  a 
stave." 

“Bravo!"  was  shouted  round  the  table,  trembling  under 
the  “ thunders  of  applause  " with  which  heavy  hands  made 
it  ring  again,  and  “ Ned  of  the  Hill!"  “ Ned  of  the  Hill!" 
was  vociferated  with  many  a hearty  cheer  about  the  board 
that  might  indeed  be  called  “festive." 

“Well,"  said  O'Connor,  “ since  you  call  upon  me  in  the 
name  of  Ned  of  the  Hill,  I'll  give  you  a song  under*  that 
very  title.  Here's  Ned  of  the  Hill's  own  shout;"  and,  in  a 
rich,  manly  voice,  he  sung,  with  the  fire  of  a bard,  these 
lines: 

THE  SHOUT  OF  NED  OF  THE  HILL. 

• i. 

The  hill!  the  hill!  with  its  sparkling  rill, 

And  its  dawning  air  so  light  and  pure, 

Where  the  morning’s  eye  scorns  the  mists  that  lie 
On  the  drowsy  valley  and  the  moor. 

Here,  with  the  eagle,  I rise  betimes ; 

Here,  with  the  eagle,  my  state  I keep; 

The  first  we  see  of  the  morning  sun, 

And  his  last  as  he  sets  o’er  the  deep, 

And  there,  while  strife  is  rife  below, 

Here  from  the  tyrant  I am  free : 

Let  shepherd  slaves  the  valley  praise. 

But  the  hill ! the  hill  for  me ! 


II. 

The  baron  below  in  his  castle  dwells, 

And  his  garden  boasts  the  costly  rose; 

But  mine  is  the  keep  of  the  mountain  steep, 
Where  the  matchless  wild  flower  freely  blows. 
Let  him  fold  his  sheep,  and  his  harvest  reap — 

I look  down  from  my  mountain  throne; 

And  I choose  and  pick  of  the  flock  and  the  rick, 
And  what  is  his  I Can  make  my  own. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


65 


Let  the  valley  grow  in  its  wealth  below, 

And  the  lord  keep  his  high  degree; 

But  higher  am  I in  my  liberty — 

The  hill  1 the  hill  for  me! 

O’Connor's  song  was  greeted  with  what  the  music-pub- 
lishers are  pleased  to  designate,  on  their  title-pages,  “ dis- 
tinguished applause;”  and  his  “health  and  song”  were 
filled  to  and  drunk  with  enthusiasm. 

“Whose  lines  are  those?”  asked  the  doctor. 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  O’Connor. 

“That’s  as  much  as  to  say  they  are  your  own,”  said 
Growling.  “Ned,  don’t  be  too  modest — it  is  the  worst 
fault  a man  can  have  who  wants  to  get  on  in  this  world.” 

“ The  call  is  with  you,  Ned,”  shouted  Murphy  from  the 
head  of  the  table;  “ knock  some  one  down  for  a song.” 

“ Mr.  Eeddy,  I hope,  will  favor  us,”  said  Edward,  with 
a courteous  inclination  of  his  head  toward  the  gentleman 
he  named,  who  returned  a very  low  bow,  with  many  prot- 
estations that  he  would  “do  his  best,”  etc.:  “but  after 
Mr.  O’Connor,  really  ’’-—and  this  was  said  with  a certain 
self-complacent  smile,  indicative  of  his  being  on  very  good 
terms  with  himself.  Now,  James  Eeddy  wrote  rhymes — 
bless  the  mark! — and  was  tolerably  well  convinced  that, 
except  Tom  Moore  (if  he  did  except  him),  there  was  not 
a man  in  the  British  dominions  his  equal  as  a lyric.  He 
sung,  too,  with  a kill-me-quite  air,  as  if  no  lady  could  resist 
his  strains;  and  to  “give  effect,”  as  he  called  it,  he  began 
every  stanza  as  loud  as  he  could,  and  finished  it  in  a gentle 
murmur — tailed  it  off  very  taper,  indeed;  in  short,  it 
seemed  as  if  a shout  had  been  suddenly  smitten  with  con- 
sumption, and  died  in  a whisper.  And  this,  his  style,  he 
never  varied,  whatever  the  nature  or  expression  of  the  song 
might  be  or  the  sense  to  be  expressed;  but  as  he  very  often 
sung  his  own,  there  were  seldom  any  to  consider.  This 
rubbish  he  had  set  to  music  by  the  country  music-master, 
who  believed  himself  a better  composer  than  Sir  John 
Stevenson,  to  whom  the  prejudices  of  the  world  gave  the 
palm;  and  he  eagerly  caught  at  the  opportunity  which  the 
Verses  and  vanity  of  Eeddy  afforded  him,  of  stringing  his 
crotchets  and  quavers  on  the  same  hank  with  the  abortive 
fruits  of  Eeddy’s  muse,  and  the  wretched  productions  hung 
Worthily  together. 

Eeddy,  with  the  proper  quantity  of  “ hems  and  haws,” 


66 


HANDY  ANDY. 


and  rubbing  down  his  upper  lip  and  chin  with  his  fore- 
finger and  thumb,  cleared  his  throat,  tossed  his  nose  into 
the  air,  and  said  he  was  going  to  give  them  “ a little  classic 
thing.  ” 

“ Just  look  at  the  puppy  !”  snarled  out  old  Growling  to 
his  neighbor;  “ he^s  going  to  measure  us  out  some  yards 
of  his  own  fustian,  Fm  sure — die  looks  so  pleased.” 

Reddy  gave  his  last  “ ahem!”  and  sung  what  he  called 

THE  LAMENT  OF  AEIADNE. 

The  graceful  Greek,  with  gem-bright  hair, 

Her  garments  rent,  and  rent  the  air; 

“ What  a tearing  rage  she  was  in!”  said  old  Growling  in 
an  undertone. 

With  sobs  and  sighs 
And  tearful  eyes, 

Like  fountain  fair  of  Helicon! 

“Oh,  thunder  and  lightning!”  growled  the  doctor,  who 
pulled  a letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and  began  to  scribble  on 
the  blank  portions  of  it,  with  the  stump  of  a blunt  pencil 
which  he  very  audibly  sucked,  to  enable  it  to  make  a mark. 

For  ah,  her  lover  false  was  gone l 
The  fickle  brave, 

And  fickle  wave, 

“ And  pickled  cabbage,”  said  the  doctor. 

Combined  to  cheat  the  fickle  fair. 

O fickle!  fickle!  fickle! 

But  the  brave  should  be  true. 

And  the  fair  ones  too — 

True,  true. 

As  the  ocean’s  blue! 

And  Ariadne  had  not  been, 

Deserted  there,  like  beauty’s  queen. 

Oh,  Ariadne! — adne! — adne! 

" Beautiful!”  said  the  doctor,  with  an  approving  nod  at 
Reddy,  who  continued  his  song,  while  the  doctor  continued 
to  write. 

The  sea-nymphs  round  the  sea-girt  shore 
Mocked  the  maiden’s  sighs; 

And  the  ocean’s  savage  roar 
Replies — 

Replies — replies — replies,  replies,  replies. 

(Jjter  the  manner  of  “ Tell  me  where  is  fancy  bred.”) 


HANDY  ANDY. 


67 


**  Very  original!”  said  the  doctor. 

With  willow  wand 
Upon  the  strand 

She  wrote,  with  trembling  heart  and  hand, 

“ The  brave  should  ne’er 
Desert  the  fair.” 

But  the  wave  the  moral  washed  away. 

Ah,  well-aday!  well-a-day! 

A-day ! — a day ! — a day ! 

Reddy  smiled  and  bowed,  and  thunders  of  applause  fol- 
lowed, the  doctor  shouted  “-Splendid!”  several  times,  and 
continued  to  write  and  take  snuff  voraciously,  by  which 
those  who  knew  him  could  comprehend  he  was  bent  on 
mischief. 

“ What  a beautiful  thing  that  is!”  said  one. 

“Whose  is  it?”  said  another. 

“A  little  thing  of  my  own,”  answered  Reddy,  with  a 
smile. 

“I  thought  so,”  said  Murphy.  “By  Jove,  James,  you 
are  a genius!” 

“ Nonsense!”  smiled  the  poet:  “just  a little  classic  trifle 
— I think  them  little  classic  allusions  is  pleasing  in  gen- 
eral— Tommy  Moore  is  very  happy  in  his  classic  allusions, 
you  may  remark — not  that  I,  of  course,  mean  to  institute 
a comparison  between  so  humble  an  individual  as  myself 
and  Tommy  Moore,  who  has  so  well  been  called  c the  poet 
of  all  circles,  and  the  idol  of  his  own;'  and  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  in  a kindred  spirit — I hope  I may  say  the  kindred 
spirit  of  a song — in  that  kindred  spirit  I propose  h is  health 
— the  health  of  Tommy  Moore!” 

“ Don't  say  Tommy  /”  said  the  doctor,  in  an  irascible 
tone;  “call  the  man  Tom,  sir; — with  all  my  heart,  Tom 
Moore!” 

The  table  took  the  word  from  Jack  Growling,  and  “ Tom 
Moore,”  with  all  the  honors  of  “hip  and  hurra!”  rang 
round  the  walls  of  the  village  inn — and  where  is  the  village 
in  Ireland  that  health  has  not  been  hailed  with  the  fiery 
enthusiasm  of  the  land  whose  lays  he  hath  “ wedded  to 
immortal  verse,” — the  land  which  is  proud  of  his  birth, 
and  holds  his  name  in  honor? 

There  is  a magic  in  a great  name;  and  in  this  instance 
that  of  Tom  Moore  turned  the  current  from  where  it 
Was  setting,  and  instead  of  quizzing  the  nonsense  of  the 


68 


HANDY  ANDY. 


fool  who  had  excited  their  mirth,  every  one  launched  forth 
in  praise  of  their  native  hard,  and  couplets  from  his  favor- 
ite songs  rang  from  lip  to  lip. 

“ Come,  Ned  of  the  Hill,"  said  Murphy,  “ sing  us  one 
of  his  songs— I know  you  have  them  all  as  pat  as  your 
prayers.” 

“ And  says  them  oftener,”  said  the  doctor,  who  still  con- 
tinued scribbling  over  the  letter. 

Edward,  at  the  urgent  request  of  many,  sang  that  most 
exquisite  of  the  melodies,  “And  doth  not  a meeting  like 
this  make  amends?”  and  long  rang  the  plaudits,  and  rapidly 
circulated  the  bottle,  at  its  conclusion. 

“Well  be  the  c Alps  in  the  sunset/  my  boys,”  said 
Murphy;  “ and  liere^s  the  wine  to  enlighten  us!  But  what 
are  you  about  there,  doctor?  Is  it  a prescription  you  are 
writing?” 

“No.  Prescriptions  are  written  in  Latin,  and  this  is  a 
bit  of  Greek  Fm  doing.  Mr.  Eeddy  has  inspired  me  with 
a classic  spirit,  and  if  you  will  permit  me.  111  volunteer  a 
song  [bravo!  bravo!],  and  give  you  another  version  of  the 
subject  he  so  beautifully  treated — only  mine  is  not  so  heart- 
breaking. ” 

The  doctor^  proposition  was  received  with  cheers,  and 
after  he  had  gone  through  the  mockery  of  clearing  his 
throat,  and  pitching  his  voice  after  the  usual  manner  of 
your  would-be  fine  singers,  he  gave  out,  to  the  tune  of  a 
well-known  rollicking  Irish  lilt,  the  following  burlesque 
Version  of  the  subject  of  Eeddy ^s  song:— 

LOYE  AND  LIQUOR. 

A Greek  Allegory . 

i. 

Oh  sure  *t would  amaze  yiz 
How  one  Mister  Theseus 
Desarted  a lovely  young  lady  of  owld. 

On  a dissolute  island, 

All  lonel}r  and  silent, 

She  sobbed  herself  sick  as  she  sat  in  the  cowld. 

Oh,  you’d  think  she  was  kilt. 

As  she  roar’d  with  the  quilt 
Wrapp’d  round  her  in  haste  as  she  jumped  out  of  bed, 

And  ran  down  to  the  coast, 

Where  she  looked  like  a ghost. 

Though  ’twas  he  was  departed — the  vagabone  fled. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


68 


And  she  cried,  “ Well-a-day! 

Sure  my  heart  it  is  gray: 

They're  deceivers,  them  sojers,  that  goes  on  half -pay.** 
ii. 

Whilst  abusing  the  villain, 

Came  riding  postilion 
A nate  little  boy  on  the  back  of  a baste, 

Big  enough,  faith,  to  ate  him, 

But  he  lather’d  and  bate  him, 

And  the  baste  to  unsate  him  ne’er  struggled  the  laste; 
<Vnd  an  iligant  car 
He  was  dhrawing — by  gar! 

It  was  finer  by  far  than  a lord  mayor’s  state  coach. 

And  the  chap  that  was  in  it 
He  sang  like  a linnet, 

With  a nate  kag  of  whisky  beside  him  to  broach. 

And  he  tipped  now  and  then 
Just  a matter  o’  ten 

Or  twelve  tumblers  o’  punch  to  his  bowld  sarving-men. 
hi. 

They  were  dress’d  in  green  livery, 

But  seem’d  rather  shivery, 

For  ’twas  only  a trifle  o’  leaves  that  they  wore; 

But  they  caper’d  away 
Like  the  sweeps  on  May-day, 

And  shouted  and  tippled  the  tumblers  galore. 

A print  of  their  masther 
Is  often  in  plasther 
O’  Paris,  put  over  the  door  of  a tap; 

A fine  chubby  fellow, 

Ripe,  rosy,  and  mellow, 

Like  a peach  that  is  ready  to  drop  in  your  lap. 

Hurrah!  for  brave  Bacchus, 

A bottle  to  crack  us, 

He’s  a friend  of  the  people,  like  bowld  Caius  Gracchus, 
rv. 

How  Bacchus  perceiving 
The  lady  was  grieving, 

He  spoke  to  her  civil,  and  lipp’d  her  a wink; 

And  the  more  that  she  fretted, 

He  soother’d  and  petted, 

And  gave  her  a glass  her  own  health  just  to  dhrink; 
Her  pulse  it  beat  quicker, 

The  thrifle  o’  liquor 

Enliven’d  her  sinking  heart’s  cockles,  I think; 

So  the  moral  is  plain, 

That  if  love  gives  you  pain, 

There's  nothing  can  cure  it  like  taking  to  dhrink  l 


70 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Uproarious  were  the  “ bravos”  which  followed  the 
doctor’s  impromptu;  the  glasses  overflowed,  and  were 
emptied  to  his  health  and  song,  as  laughing  faces  nodded 
to  him  round  the  table.  The  doctor  sat  seriously  rocking 
himself  in  his  chair  backward  and  forward,  to  meet  the 
various  duckings  of  the  beaming  faces  about  him;  for 
every  face  beamed,  but  one — and  that  was  the  unfortunate 
M’Garry’s.  He  was  most  deplorably  drunk,  and  began  to 
hold  on  by  the  table.  At  last  he  contrived  to  shove  back 
his  chair  and  get  on  his  legs;  and  making  a sloping  stagger 
toward  the  wall,  contrived  by  its  support  to  scramble  his 
way  to  the  door.  There  he  balanced  himself  as  well  as  he 
could  by  the  handle  of  the  lock,  which  chance,  rather  than 
design,  enabled  him  to  turn,  and  the  door  suddenly  open- 
ing, poor  M’Garry  made  a rush  across  the  landing-place, 
and,  stumbling  against  an  opposite  door,  would  have  fallen, 
had  he  not  supported  himself  by  the  lock  of  that  also, 
which,  again  yielding  to  his  heavy  tugs,  opened,  and  the 
miserable  wretch  making  another  plunge  forward,  his 
shins  came  in  contact  with  the  rail  of  a very  low  bed,  and 
into  it  he  fell  head  foremost,  totally  unable  to  rise,  and, 
after  some  heavy  grunts,  he  sunk  into  a profound  sleep. 

In  this  state  he  was  discovered  soon  after  by  Murphy, 
whose  inventive  faculty  for  frolic  instantly  suggested  how 
the  apothecary’s  mishap  might  be  made  the  foundation 
of  a good  practical  joke.  Murtough  went  down-stairs,  and 
procuring  some  blacking  and,  red_jickled-  cabbage  by 
stealth,  returned  to  the  chamber  where  M’Garry  now  lay 
in  a state  of  stupor,  and  dragging  off  his  clothes,  he  made 
long  daubs  across  his  back^y^h—tbe  jmrple  juice  of  the 
pickle  and  Warren’s  paste,  till  poor  M’Garry  was  as  regu- 
larly striped  as  a tiger,  from  his  shoulder  to  his  flank.  He 
then  returned  to  the  dinner-room,  where  the  drinking  bout 
had  assumed  a formidable  character,  and  others,  as  well 
as  the  apothecary,  began  to  feel  the  influence  of  their  pota- 
tions. Murphy  confided  to  the  doctor  what  he  had  done, 
and  said  that,  when  the  men  were  drunk  enough,  he  would 
contrive  that  M’Garry  should  be  discovered,  and  then  they 
would  take  their  measures  accordingly.  It  was  not  very 
long  before  his  company  were  ripe  enough  for  his  designs, 
and  then  ringing  the  bell,  he  demanded  of  the  waiter,  when 
he  entered,  what  had  become  of  Mr.  M’Garry.  The  waiter, 
not  having  any  knowledge  on  the  subject,  was  desired  to 


HANDY  ANDY. 


7] 


inquire,  and,  a search  being  instituted,  M’Garry  was  dis- 
covered by  Mrs.  Fay  in  the  state  Murphy  had  left  him  in. 
On  seeing  him,  she  was  so  terrified  that  she  screamed,  and 
ran  into  the  dinner-room,  wringing  her  hands,  and  shout 
ing  “ Murder.”  A great  commotion  ensued,  and  a genera] 
rush  to  the  bedroom  took  place,  and  exclamations  oJ 
wonder  and  horror  flew  round  the  room,  not  only  from  the 
gentlemen  of  the  dinner-party,  but  from  the  servants  oJ 
the  house,  who  crowded  to  the  chamber  on  the  first  alarm, 
and  helped  not  a little  to  increase  the  confusion. 

“Oh!  who  ever  see  the  like  of  it!”  shouted  Mrs.  Fay. 
“He’s  kilt  with  the  batin’  he  got!  Oh,  look  at  him — 
black  and  blue  all  over!  Oh,  the  murther  it  is!  Oh,  1 
wouldn’t  be  Squire  O’Grady  for  all  his  fort’n.” 

“Gad,  I believe  he’s  killed,  sure  enough,”  said  Mur- 
phy. 

“What  a splendid  action  the  widow  will  have!”  said 
Jack  Horan. 

“You  forget,  man,” said  Murphy,  “ this  is  not  a case 
for  action  of  damages,  but  a felony — hanging  matter.” 

“ Sure  enough,”  said  Jack, 

“ Doctor,  will  you  feel  his  pulse?”  said  Murphy. 

The  doctor  did  as  he  was  required,  and  assumed  a very 
serious  countenance.  “’Tis  is  a bad  business,  sir — his 
wounds  are  mortifying  already.” 

Upon  thi^ImM  there  was  a general  retreat 

from  the  bed,  round  which  they  had  been  crowding  too 
close  for  the  carrying  on  of  the  joke;  and  Mrs.  Fay  ran  for 
a shovel  of  hot  cinders,  and  poured  vinegar  over  them,  to 
fumigate  the  room. 

“ A very  proper  precaution,  Mrs.  Fay,”  said  the  doctor, 
with  imperturbable  gravity. 

“ That  villainous  smoke  is  choking  me,”  said  Jack  Ho- 
ran. 

“ Better  that,  sir,  than  have  a pestilence  in  the  house, ’J 
said  Growling. 

“I’ll  leave  the  place,”  said  Jack  Horan. 

“ And  I too,”  said  Doyle. 

“ And  I,”  said  Beddy;  “ ’tis  disgusting  to  a sensitive 
mind.” 

“Gentlemen!”  said  Murphy,  shutting  the  door,  “you 
must  not  quit  the  house,  I must  have  an  inquest  on  the 
body.” 


n 


HAHDY  AHDY. 


“ An  inquest!”  they  all  exclaimed. 

“ Yes — an  inquest.” 

“But  there's  no  coroner  here/'  said  Reddy. 

“ No  matter  for  that/'  said  Murphy.  “ I,  as  the  under* 
sheriff  of  the  county,  can  preside  at  this  inquiry.  Gentle- 
men, take  your  places;  bring  in  more  lights,  Mrs.  Fay. 
Stand  round  the  bed,  gentlemen.” 

“Not  too  close,”  said  the  doctor.  “Mrs.  Fay,  bring 
more  vinegar.  ” 

Mrs.  Fay  had  additional  candles  and  more  vinegar  intro- 
duced, and  the  drunken  fellows  were  standing  as  straight 
as  they  could,  each  with  a candle  in  his  hand,  round  the 
still  prostrate  M'Garry. 

Murphy  then  opened  on  them  with  a speech,  and  called 
in  every  one  in  the  house  to  ask  did  they  know  anything 
about  the  matter;  and  it  was  not  long  before  it  was  spread 
all  over  the  town  that  Squire  O'Grady  had  killed  M'Garry, 
and  that  the  coroner's  inquest  brought  in  a verdict  of 
murder,  and  that  the  squire  was  going  to  be  sent  to  jail. 

This  almost  incredible  humbug  of  Murphy's  had  gone  on 
for  nearly  half  an  hour,  when  the  cold  arising  from  his 
want  of  clothes,  and  the  riot  about  him,  and  the  fumes  of 
the  vinegar,  roused  M'Garry,  who  turned  on  the  bed  and 
opened  his  eyes.  There  he  saw  a parcel  of  people  standing 
round  him,  with  candles  in  their  hands,  and  countenances 
of  drunken  wonder  and  horror. 

He  uttered  a hollow  groan,  and  cried — 

“ Save  us  and  keep  us!  where  am  I?” 

“ Retire,  gentlemen,”  said  the  doctor,  waving  his  hand 
authoritatively;  “ retire — all  but  the  under-sheriff/' 

Murphy  cleared  the  room,  and  shut  the  door,  while 
M'Garry  still  kept  exclaiming,  “Save  us  and  keep  us! 
where  am  I?  What's  this?  0 Lord!” 

“ You're  dead:!”  said  Murphy;  “ and  the  coroner's  in- 
quest has  just  sat  on  you!” 

“ Dead!”  cried  M'Garry,  with  a horrified  stare. 

“Dead!”  repeated  the  doctor,  solemnly. 

“ Are  you  not  Doctor  Growling?” 

“ You  see  the  effect,  Mr.  Murphy,”  said  the  doctor,  not 
noticing  M'Garry's  question— “ you  see  the  effect  of  the 
process.” 

“Wonderful!”  said  Murphy. 

“ Preserve  us!”  cried  the  bewildered  apothecary.  “ How 


JELOTDY  AKDY. 


?3 


could  I know  you  if  I was  dead,  doctor?  Oh,  doctor  dear, 
sure  Fm  not  dead?” 

“ As  a herring,”  said  the  doctor. 

“ Lord  have  mercy  on  me!  Oh,  Mr.  Murphy,  sure  Fm 
not  dead?” 

“ You"re  dead,  sir,”  said  Murphy;  “ the  doctor  has  only 
galvanized  you  for  a few  moments.” 

“ Oh,  Lord!”  groaned  M"Garry.  “ Doctor — indeed,  doc- 
tor?” 

“ You  are  in  a state  of  temporary  animation,”  said  the, 
doctor. 

“ I do  feel  very  odd,  indeed,”  said  the  terrified  man,  put- 
ting his  hands  to  his  throbbing  temples.  “How  long  am 
I dead?” 

“ A week  next  Tuesday,”  said  the  doctor.  “ Galvanism 
has  preserved  you  from  decomposition.” 

M "Garry  uttered  a heavy  groan,  and  looked  up  piteously 
at  his  two  tormentors.  Murphy,  fearful  that  the  shock 
might  drive  him  out  of  his  mind,  said:  “Perhaps,  doctor, 
you  can  preserve  his  life  altogether;  you  have  kept  him 
alive  so  long?” 

“Fll  try,”  said  Growling;  “hand  me  that  tumbler.” 

Murphy  handed  him  a tumbler  full  of  water,  and  the 
doctor  gave  it  to  M"Garry,  and  desired  him  to  try  and 
drink  it;  he  put  it  to  his  lips  and  swallowed  a little  drop. 

“ Can  you  taste  it?”  asked  the  doctor. 

“Isn"t  it  water?”  said  M"Garry. 

“ You  see  how  dull  the  nerves  are  yet,”  said  Growling  to 
Murphy;  “thaPs  aquafortis  and  asafetida,  and  he  can"t 
taste  it;  we  must  give  him  another  touch  of  the  battery. 
Hold  him  up,  while  I go  into  the  next  room,  and  immerse 
the  plates.” 

The  doctor  left  the  bedroom,  and  came  back  with  a 
hot  poker  and  some  lemon- juice  and  water. 

“Turn  him  gently  round,”  said  he  to  Murphy,  “while 
I conduct  the  wires.” 

His  order  was  obeyed;  and  giving  M"Garry  a touch  of 
the  hot  poker,  the  apothecary  roared  like  a bull. 

“That  did  him  good!”  said  Growling.  “Now  try,  can 
you  taste  anything?""  and  he  gave  him  the  lemon- juice  and 
water. 

“I  taste  a slight  acid,  doctor  dear,” said  M"Garry,  hope- 
fully. 


HAKDY  ANDY. 


‘n  . 

“You  see  what  that  last  touch  did/*  said  Growling* 
gravely;  “but  the  palate  is  still  feeble;  that's  nearly  pura 
nitric.” 

“ Oh,  dear!”  said  M'Garry,  “is  it  nitric?” 

“You  see  his  hearing  is  coming  back,  too,”  said  the 
doctor  to  Murphy.  “ Try  can  he  put  his  legs  under  him?” 
They  raised  the  apothecary  from  the  bed;  and  when  he 
staggered  and  fell  forward,  he  looked  horrified.  “Oh, 
dear!  I can't  walk.  I’m  afraid  I am — I am  no  more!” 

“ Don't  despair,”  said  the  doctor;  “I  pledge  my  profes-r 
sional  reputation  to  save  you  now,  since  you  can  stand  at 
all,  and  your  senses  are  partly  restored.  Let  him  lie  down 
again;  try  could  he  sleep — ” 

“ Sleep!”  said  M'Garry,  with  horror;  “perhaps  never  to 
awaken !” 

“I'll  keep  up  the  galvanic  influence — don't  be  afraid; 
depend  upon  me — there,  lie  down.  Can  you  shut  your 
eyes?  Yes,  I see  "you  can:  don't  open  them  so  fast.  Try, 
can  you  keep  them  shut?  Don't  open  them  till  I tell  you 
—wait  till  I count  two  hundred  and  fifty.  That's  right — 
turn  a little  more  round — keep  your  eyes  fast;  that's  it. 
One — two — three — four — five — six — seven;”  and  so  he  went 
on,  making  a longer  interval  between  every  number,  till 
the  monotonous  sound,  and  the  closed  eye  of  the  helplessly 
drunken  man,  produced  the  effect  desired  by  the  doctor; 
and  the  heavy  snoring  of  the  apothecary  soon  bore  witness 
that  he  slept. 

We  hope  it  is  not  necessary  to  assure  our  fair  readers 
that  Edward  O'Connor  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  scene 
of  drunken  absurdity.  No:  long  before  the  evening's  pro- 
ceedings had  assumed  the  character  of  a regular  drinking 
bout,  he  had  contrived  to  make  his  escape,  his  head  only 
sufficiently  excited  to  increase  his  sentimentality;  so,  in- 
stead of  riding  home  direct,  he  took  a round  of  some  eight 
miles,  to  have  a look  at  Merryvale,  for  there  dwelt  Farmy 
Dawson — the  darling  Fanny  Dawson,  sister  to  Dick,  whose 
devilry  was  more  than  redeemed  in  the  family  by  the  an- 
gelic sweetness  of  his  lovely  and  sportive  sister.  For  the 
present,  however,  poor  Edward  O'Connor  was  not  allowed 
to  address  Fanny;  but  his  love  for  her  knew  no  abatement 
notwithstanding;  and  to  see  the  place  where  she  dwelt  had 
for  him  a charm.  There  he  sat  in  his  saddle,  at  the  gate, 
looking  up  the  long  line  of  old  trees  through  which  the 


HANDY  ANDY. 


?5 


cool  moonlight  was  streaming;  and  he  fancied  that  Fanny^s 
foot  had  trodden  that  avenue  perhaps  a few  hours  before, 
and  even  that  gave  him  pleasure : for  those  who  love  with 
the  fond  enthusiasm  of  Edward  O'Connor,  the  very  vacancy 
where  the  loved  one  has  been  is  sacred. 

The  horse  pawed  impatiently  to  be  gone,  and  Edward 
reined  him  up  with  a chiding  voice;  but  the  animal  con- 
tinuing restless,  Edward's  apostrophes  to  his  mistress,  and 
warning  to  his  horse,  made  an  odd  mixture;  and  we  would 
recommend  gentlemen,  after  their  second  bottle,  not  to  let 
themselves  be  overheard  in  their  love-fits;  for  even  as  fine 
a fellow  as  Edward  O'Connor  is  likely  to  be  ridiculous  un- 
der such  circumstances. 

“Oh,  Fanny!”  cried  Edward,  “my  adored  Fanny!” — 
then  to  his  horse,  “ Be  qiMt , you  brute! — My  love,  my 
angel! — you  deoil , Fll  thrash  you,  if  you  don't  be  quiet! — 
though  separated  from  me,  you  are  always  present  to  my 
mind;  your  bright  eyes,  your  raven  locks — your  mouth's  as 
hard  as  a paving-stone 9 you  brute! — -Oh,  Fanny!  if  fate  be 
ever  propitious — should  I be  blessed  with  the  divine  pos- 
session of  your  charms,  you  should  then  know — what  a 
devil  you  are! — you  should  then  know  the  tenderest  care. 
Ill  guard  you,  caress  you,  fondle  you — I'll  bury  my  spurs 
in  you , you  devil! — Oh,  Fanny!  beloved  one! — farewell — 
good-night — a thousand  blessings  on  you! — and  now  go  and 
be  hanged  to  you!"  said  he,  bitterly,  putting  his  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  galloping  home. 

* * * ❖ * sfc  * 

When  the  doctor  was  satisfied  that  M'Garry  was  fast 
asleep,  he  and  Murphy  left  the  room,  and  locked  the  door. 
They  were  encountered  on  the  lobby  by  several  curious 
people,  who  wanted  to  know,  “ was  the  man  dead?”  The 
doctor  shook  his  head  very  gravely,  and  said,  “Not  quite;” 
while  Murph^,  with  a serious  ncd,  said,  “All  over,  Fm 
afraid,  Mrs.  Fay;”  for  he  perceived  among  the  persons  on 
the  lobby  a servant  of  O'Grady's,  who  chanced  to  be  in  the 
town,  and  was  ail  wonder  and  fright  at  the  news  of  his 
master  having  committed  murder.  Murphy  and  the  doctor 
proceeded  to  the  dinner-room,  where  they  found  the  drunk- 
en men  wrangling  about  what  verdict  they  should  bring 
in,  and  a discursive  dispute  touching  on  “murder,”  and 


7 6 


HAKDY  AHDY. 


“ manslaughter/5  and  “accidental  death/5  and  “ the  visit 
ation  of  God/*  mingled  with  noisy  toasts  and  flowing  cups, 
until  any  sagacity  the  company  ever  possessed  was  sacri- 
ficed to  the  rosy  god. 

The  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the  state  of  the  company, 
rendered  riding  home  impossible  to  most  of  them;  so  Mrs. 
Fay  was  called  upon  to  prepare  beds.  The  inn  did  not 
afford  a sufficiency  of  beds  to  accommodate  every  gentle- 
man with  a single  one,  so  a toss-up  was  resorted  to,  to  de- 
cide who  should  sleep  double.  The  fortune  of  war  cast  the 
unfortunate  James  Reddy  upon  the  doctor,  who,  though 
one  of  the  few  who  were  capable  of  self -protection,  pre- 
ferred remaining  at  the  inn  to  riding  home  some  miles. 
Now  James  Reddy,  though  very  drunk  indeed,  had  sense 
enough  left  to  dislike  the  lot  that  fate  had  cast  him.  To 
sleep  with  such  a slovenly  man  as  the  doctor  shocked 
James,  who  was  a bit  of  a dandy.  The  doctor  seemed  per- 
fectly contented  with  the  arrangement;  and  as  he  bade 
Murphy  “good-night/5  a lurking  devilment  hung  about 
his  huge  mouth.  All  the  men  staggered  off,  or  were  sup- 
ported, to  their -various  beds,  but  one;  and  he  could  not 
stir  from  the  floor,  where  he  lay  hugging  the  leg  of  the 
table.  To  every  effort  to  disturb  him  he  replied  with  an 
imploring  grunt  to  “let  him  alone,**  and  he  hugged  the 
leg  of  the  table  closer,  exclaiming,  “I  won*t  leave  you, 
Mrs.  Fav! — my  darling  Mrs.  Fay!  rowl  your  arms  round 
me,  Mrs.  Fay!*5 

“ Ah,  get  up  and  go  to  bed,  Misther  Doyle/*  said  Tim. 
“ Sure  the  misthress  is  not  here  at  all.  ** 

“I  know  she*s  not/*  said  Doyle.  “Who  says  a word 
against  her?** 

“ Sure  you*re  talkin*  to  her  yourself,  sir.** 

“Pooh,  pooh,  man! — you*re  dhrunk.** 

“Ah,  come  to  bed,  Misther  Doyle!**  said  Tim,  in  an  im- 
ploring tone.  “ Och  sure,  my  heart*s  broke  with  you.** 

“ Don*t  say  your  heart *s  broke,  my  sweet  landlady — my 
darling  Mrs.  Fay!  the  apple  of  my  eye  you  are.** 
“Nonsense,  Misther  Doyle.** 

“ True  as  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars.  Apple  of  my  eye, 
did  I say? — I*d  give  the  apples  of  my  eyes  to  make  sauce 
for  the  cockles  of  your  heart.  Mrs.  Fay,  darling,  don*t  be 
coy.  Ha!  I have  you  fast!**  and  he  gripped  the  table 
closer. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


77 


"Well*  you  arc  dhrunk,  Misther  Doyle,”  said  Tim. 

“ I hope  my  breath  is  not  offensive  from  drink,  Mrs. 
Fay,”  said  Doyle,  in  an  amatory  whisper  to  the  leg  of  the 
table. 

“ Ah,  get  out  o'  that,  Misther  Doyle,”  said  Tim;  accom- 
panying the  exclamation  with  a good  shake*  which  some- 
what roused  the  prostrate  form. 

“Who's  there?” 

“I  want  you  to  come  to  bed,  sir; — eh,  don't  be  so  fool- 
ish, Misther  Doyle.  Sure  you  don't  think  the  misthress 
would  be  rowlin'  on  the  flu  re  there  wid  you,  as  dhrunk  as 

a Pig—" 

“Dare  not  wound  her  fame!  Who  says  a word  of  Mrs. 
Fay?” 

“Arrah,  sure  you're  talkin' there  about  her  this  half 
hour.” 

“False  villain! — Whisht,  my  darling,”  said  he  to  the 
leg  of  the  table;  “I'll  never  betray  you.  Hug  me  tight, 
Mrs.  Fay!” 

“ Bad  luck  to  the  care  I'll  take  any  more  about  you,'1 
say  Tim.  “Sleep on  the  fiure,  if  you  like.”  And  Doyle 
Was  left  to  pass  the  night  in  the  soft  imaginary  delights  of 
Mrs.  Fay's  mahogany  embraces. 

How  fared  it  with  James  Reddy?  Alas!  poor  James 
Was  doomed  to  a night  of  torment,  the  effects  of  which  he 
remembered  for  many  days  after.  In  fact,  had  James  been 
left  to  his  choice,  he  would  rather  have  slept  with  the 
house-dog  than  with  the  doctor;  but  he  dreaded  the  conse- 
quences of  letting  old  Jack  perceive  his  antipathy;  and 
Visions  of  future  chastisement  from  the  doctor's  satirical 
tongue  awed  him  into  submission  to  the  present  punish- 
ment. He  sneaked  into  bed,  therefore,  and  his  deep  pota- 
tions insured  him  immediate  sleep,  from  which  he  awoke, 
however,  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in  torture,  from  the 
deep  scratches  inflicted  upon  him  by  every  kick  of  old 
Growling.  At  last  poor  Reddy  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  the  earliest  hour  of  dawn  revealed  him  to  the  doctor 
putting  on  his  clothes,  swearing  like  a trooper  at  one  mo- 
ment, and  at  the  next  apostrophizing  the  genius  of  gen- 
tility. “What  it  is  to  have  to  do  with  a person  that  is  not 
a gentleman!”  he  exclaimed,  as  he  pulled  on  one  leg  of  his 
trousers. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  old  Jack  from 
the  bed. 

“ The  matter,  sir,  is>  that  I'm  going." 

“Is  it  at  this  hour?  Tut,  man,  don't  be  a fool.  Get 
into  bed  again." 

“ Never,  sir,  with  you  at  least.  I have  seldom  slept  two 
in  a bed,  1 )r.  Growling,  for  my  gentlemanly  habits  forbid 
it;  but  when  circumstances  have  obliged  me,  it  has  been 
with  gentlemen — gentlemen , doctor,"  and  he  laid  a stress 
on  the  word — ' “ gentlemen,  sir,  who  cut  their  toe-nails. 
Sir,  I am  a serious  sufferer  by  your  coarse  habits;  you 
have  scratched  me,  sir,  nearly  to  death.  I am  one  gore  of  . 
blood—"  * 

“Tut,  man!  'twas  not  my  nails  that  scratched  you;  it 
was  only  my  spurs  I put  on  going  to  bed,  to  keep  you  at  a 
distance  from  me;  you  were  so  disgustingly  drunk,  my 
gentleman  / — look  there,"  and  he  poked  his  leg  out  of  bed, 
and  there,  sure  enough,  Eeddy  saw  a spur  buckled;  and, 
dumfounded  at  this  evidence  of  the  doctor's  atrocity,  he 
snatched  up  his  clothes,  and  rushed  from  the  room,  as  from 
the  den  of  a bear. 

Murphy  twisted  a beneficial  result  to  M'Garry  out  of  the 
night's  riotous  frolic  at  his  expense;  for,  in  the  morning, 
taking  advantage  of  the  report  of  the  inquest  which  he 
knew  must  have  reached  Neck-or-no thing  Hall,  he  made  a 
communication  to  O'Grady,  so  equivocally  worded  that 
the  Squire  fell  into  the  trap.  The  note  ran  as  follows: 

“ Sir, — You  must  be  aware  that  your  act  of  yesterday 
has  raised  a strong  feeling  in  the  country  against  you,  and 
that  so  flagrant  a violation  of  the  lawrs  can  not  fail  to  be 
visited  wfith  terrible  severity  upon  you;  for,  though  your 
position  in  rank  places  you  far  above  the  condition  of  the 
unfortunate  man  on  whom  you*  wreaked  your  vengeance, 
you  know,  sir,  that  in  the  eye  of  the  law  you  are  equal,  and 
the  shield  of  justice  protects  the  peasant  as  well  as  the 
prince.  Under  these  circumstances,  sir,  considering  the 
awful  consequences  of  your  ungoverned  rage  (which,  I 
doubt  not,  now,  you  deplore),  I would  suggest  to  you  by  a 
timely  offer  of  compromise,  in  the  shape  of  a handsome 
sum  of  money — say  two  hundred  jpounds — to  lull  the 
storms  which  must  otherv/iseTmrst  on  your  devoted  head. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


79 


and  save  your  name  from  dishonor.  I anxiously  await 
your  answer,  as  proceedings  must  instantly  commence,  and 
the  law  take  its  course,  unless  Mrs.  M’Garry  can  be  paci- 
fied. 

“ I have  the  honor  to  be,  sir, 

“ Your  most  obedient  servant, 

“ Muktough  Muephy. 

“ To  Gustavus  Granby  O’ Grady,  Esq., 

“ NecTc-or-nothing  Hall.” 

O’Grady  was  thoroughly  frightened;  and  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  did  believe  he  could  compromise  for  killing 
only  a plebeian;  and  actually  sent  Murphy  his  note  of 
hand  for  the  sum  demanded.  Murtough  posted  off  to 
* M’Garry:  he  and  his  wife  received  him  with  shouts  of  in- 
dignation, and  heaped  reproaches  on  his  head,  for  the  trick 
he  had  played  on  the  apothecary. 

“Oh!  Misther  Murphy — never  look  me  in  the  face 
again !”  said  Mrs.  M’Garry,  who  was  ugly  enough  to  make 
the  request  quite  unnecessary;  “ to  send  my  husband  home 
to  me  a beast!” 

“Striped  like  a tiger!”  said  M’Garry. 

“ Blacking  and  pickled  cabbage,  Misther  Murphy!”  said 
the  wife.  “Oh,  fy,  sir!  I did  not  think  you  could  be  so 
low.” 

“ Galvanism!”  said  M’Garry,  furiously.  “My  profes- 
sional honor  wounded!” 

“ Whisht,  whisht,  man!”  said  Murphy;  “there’s  a finer 
plaster  than  any  in  your  shop  for  the  cure  of  wounded 
honor.  Look  at  that!”  and  he  handed  him  the  note  for 
two  hundred:  “there’s  galvanism  for  you!” 

“What  is  this?”  said  M’Garry,  in  amazement. 

“ The  result  of  last  night’s  inquest,”  said  Murphy.  “ You 
have  got  your  damages  without  a trial;  so  pocket  your 
money,  and  be  thankful.” 

The  two  hundred  pounds  at  once  changed  the  aspect  of 
affairs.  M’Garry  vowed  eternal  gratitude,  with  protesta- 
tions that  Murphy  was  the  cleverest  attorney  alive,  and 
ought  to  be  chief  justice.  The  wife  was  equally  vociferous 
in  her  acknowledgments,  until  Murtough,  who,  when  he 
entered  the  house,  was  near  falling  a sacrifice  to  the  claws 
of  the  apothecary’s  wife,  was  obliged  to  rush  from  the 


80 


HANDY  ANDY, 


premises  to  shun  the  more  terrible  consequences  of  her 
embraces. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

We  sat  so  long  at  our  dinner,  that  we  have  almost  lost 
sight  of  poor  Andy*  to  whom  we  must  now  return.  ^VVhen 
he  ran  to  his  mother’s  cabin*  to  escape  from  the  fangs  of 
Dick  Dawson*  there  was  no  one  within:  his  mother  being 
digging  a few  potatoes  for  supper  from  the  little  ridge  be- 
hind the  house*  and  Oonah  Riley*  her  niece — an  orphan 
girl  who  lived  with  her — being  up  to  Squire  Egan’s  to  sell 
some  eggs;  for  round  the  poorest  cabins  in  Ireland  you 
scarcely  ever  fail  to  see  some  ragged  hens*  whose  eggs  are 
never  consumed  by  their  proprietors*  except*  perhaps*  on 
Easter  Sunday*  but  sold  to  the  neighboring  gentry  at  a 
trifling  price. 

Andy  cared  not  who  was  out*  or  who  was  in*  provided  he 
could  only  escape  from  Dick;  so  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions* he  crawled  under  the  wretched  bed  in  the  dark  corner, 
where  his  mother  and  Oonah  slept*  and  where  the  latter, 
through  the  blessed  influence  of  health*  youth*  and  an  in- 
nocent heart*  had  brighter  dreams  than  attended  many  a 
couch  whose  downy  pillows  and  silken  hangings  would  more 
than  purchase  the  fee-simple  of  any  cabin  in  Ireland. 
There  Andy*  in  a state  of  utter  exhaustion  from  his  fears, 
his  race*  and  his  thrashing*  soon  fell  asleep*  and  the  ter- 
rors of  Dick  the  Devil  gave  place  to  the  blessing  of  the 
profoundest  slumber. 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  her  darling  Andy 
was  the  Widow  Rooney*  as  she  returned  from  the  potato 
ridge  into  her  cabin;  depositing  a sheough  of  the  newly 
dug  esculent  at  the  door*  and-  replacing  the  spade  in  its 
own  corner  of  the  cabin.  At  the  same  time  Oonah  re- 
turned* after  disposing  of  her  eggs*  and  handed  the  three 
pence  she  had  received  for  them  to  her  aunt*  who  dropped 
them  into  the  deep  pocket  of  blue  striped  tick  which  hung 
at  her  side. 

“ Take  the  pail*  Oonah*  ma  chree * and  run  to  the  well 
for  some  wather  to  wash  the  pratees*  while  I get  the  pot 
ready  for  bilin’  them;  it  wants  scourin’*  for  the  pig  was 
atin"  his  dinner  out  iv  it*  the  craythur!” 

Gif  went  Oonah  with  her  pail*  which  she  soon  filled  from 


HANDY  ANDY. 


81 

the  clear  spring;  and  placing  the  vessel  on  her  head, 
walked  back  to  the  cabin  with  that  beautiful  erect  form, 
free  step,  and  graceful  swaying  of  the  figure,  so  peculiar  to 
the  women  of  Ireland  and  the  East,  from  their  habit  of 
carrying  weights  upon  the  head.  The  potatoes  were  soon 
washed;  and  as  they  got  their  last  dash  of  water  in  the 
sTceough , whose  open  wicker-work  let  the  moisture  drain 
from  them,  up  came  Larry  Hogan,  who,  being  what  is 
called  a “civil-spoken  man/'  addressed  Mrs.  Eooney  in  the 
following  agreeable  manner: — 

“ Them's  purty  pratees,  Mrs.  Eooney;  God  save  you, 
ma'am!" 

“'Heed  an'  they  are — thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Hogan; 
God  save  you  and  yours  too!  And  how  would  the  woman 
that  owns  you  be?" 

“Hearty,  thank  you." 

“Will  you  step  in?" 

“ No,  I'm  obleeged  to  you— I must  beaff  home  wid  me; 
but  I'll  just  get  a coal  for  my  pipe,  for  it  wint  out  on  me 
awhile  agone  with  the  fright." 

“Well,  I've  heer'd  quare  things,  Larry  Hogan,"  said 
Oonah,  laughing  and  showing  her  white  teeth;  “but  I 
never  heer'd  so  quare  a thing  as  a pipe  goin'  out  with  the 
fright." 

“Oh,  how  sharp  you  are! — takin' one  up  afore  they're 
down." 

“ Not  afore  they're  down,  Larry;  for  you  said  it." 

“ Well,  if  I was  down,  you  were  down  on  me;  so  you  are 
down  too,  you  see.  Ha,  ha!  And  afther  all  now,  Oonal^ 
a pipe  is  like  a Christian  in  many  ways;  sure  it's  made  o' 
clay  like  a Christian,  and  has  the  spark  o'  life  in  it,  and 
while  the  breath  is  in  it  the  spark  is  alive;  but  when  the 
breath  is  out  of  it  the  spark  dies,  and  then  it  grows  cowld 
like  a Christian;  and  isn't  it  a pleasant  companion  like  a 
Christian?" 

“ Eaix,  some  Christians  isn't  pleasant  companions  at  all!" 
chimed  in  Mrs.  Eooney,  sententiously. 

^ “ Well,  but  they  ought  to  be,"  said  Larry;  “ and  isn't  a 
pipe  sometimes  cracked  like  a Christian,  and  isn't  it  some- 
times choked  like  a Christian?" 

“ Oh,  choke  you  and  your  pipe  together,  Larry!  will  you 
never  have  done?"  said  the  widow. 

“ The  most  improvinist  thing  m the  world  is  smokin',* 


HANDY  ANDY. 


said  Larry,  who  had  now  relit  his  pipe,  and  squatted  him- 
self on  a three-legged  stool  beside  the  widow*s  fire.  “ The 
most  improvinist  in  the  world  (paugh!) — and  a paren- 

thetical whiff  of  tobacco-smoke  curled  out  of  the  corner  of 
Larry  *s  mouth — “is  smokin*;  for  the  smoke  shows  you,  as 
it  were,  the  life  o*  man  passin*  away  like  a puff  **• — (paugh!) 
— “just  like  that;  and  the  tibakky  turns  to  ashes  like  his 
poor  perishable  body;  for,  as  the  song  says — 

“ * Tibakky  is  an  Indian  weed, 

Alive  at  morn  and  dead  at  eve; 

It  lives  but  an  hour, 

Is  cut  down  like  a flower. 

Think  o’  this  when  you’re  smoking  tiba-akky  V ° 

And  Larry  sung  the  ditty  as  he  crammed  some  of  the  weed 
into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  with  his  little  finger. 

“ Why,  youTe  as  good  as  a sarmint  this  evening  Larry/* 
said  the  widow,  as  she  lifted  the  iron  pot  on  the  fire. 

“ There*s  worse  sarmint s nor  that,  I can  tell  you/*  re- 
joined Larry,  who  took  up  the  old  song  again — 

“ ' A pipe  it  larns  us  all  this  thing — 

Tis  fair  without  and  foul  within, 

Just  like  a sowl  begrim’d  with  sin. 

Think  o’  this  when  you’re  smoking  tiba-akky!’” 

Larry  puffed  away  silently  for  a few  minutes,  and  when 
Oonah  had  placed  a few  sods  of  turf  round  the  pot  in  an 
upright  position,  that  the  flame  might  curl  upward  round 
them,  and  so  hasten  the  boiling,  she  drew  a stool  near  the 
fire,  and  asked  Larry  to  explain  about  the  fright. 

“Why,  I was  coming  up  by  the  cross-road  there,  when 
what  should  I see  but  a ghost — ** 

“A  ghost!!!**  exclaimed  the  widow  and  Oonah,  with 
suppressed  voices  and  distended  mouth  and  eyes. 

“To  all  appearance/*  said  Larry;  “but  it  was  only  a 
thing  was  stuck  in  the  hedge  to  f reken  whoever  was  passin* 
by;  and  as  I kem  up  to  it  there  was  a groan,  so  I started, 
and  looked  at  it  for  a minit,  or  thereaway;  but  I seen 
"what  it  was,  and  threwn  a stone  at  it,  for  fear  I*d  be  mis- 
taken: and  I heer*d  tittherin*  inside  the  hedge,  and  ther 
knew  *twas  only  devilment  of  some  one.** 

“And  what  was  it?**  asked  Oonah. 

“ *Iwas  a horse*s  head,  in  troth,  with  an  owld  hat  on 


HANDY  ANDY. 


83 


the  top  of  it,  and  two  buck-briers  stuck  out  at  each  side, 
and  some  rags  hanging  on  them,  and  an  owld  breeches 
shakin'  undher  the  head;  'twas  just  altogether  like  a long 
pale-faced  man,  with  high  shouldhers  and  no  body,  and 
very  long  arms  and  short  legs — faith,  it  frightened  me  at 
first. ” 

“ And  no  wondher,”  said  Oonah.  “ Dear,  but  I think 
Pd  lose  my  life  if  I seen  the  like!” 

“ But  sure,”  said  the  widow,  “ wouldn't  you  know  that 
ghosts  never  appears  by  day?” 

“ Ay,  but  I hadn't  time  to  think  o'  that,  bein'  taken 
short  wid  the  fright — more  betoken,  'twas  the  place  the 
murdher  happened  in  long  ago.” 

“ Sure  enough,”  said  the  widow.  “ God  betune  us  and 
harm!”  and  she  marked  herself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross 
as  she  spoke;  “and, a terrible  murdher  it  was,”  added  she. 

“ How  was  it?”  inquired  Oonah,  drawing  her  seat  closer 
to  her  aunt  and  Larry. 

“ 'Twas  a school-master,  dear,  that  was  found  dead  on 
the  road  one  mornin,  with  his  head  full  of  fractions,”  said 

the  widow. 

“ All  in  jommethry,”*  said  Larry. 

“ And  some  said  he  fell  off  the  horse,”  said  the  widow. 

“ And  more  say  the  horse  fell  on  him,”  said  Larry. 

“ And  again,  there  was  some  said  the  horse  kicked  him 
in  the  head,”  said  the  widow. 

“And  there  was  talk  of  shoe-aside,”  said  Larry. 

“ The  horse's  shoe  was  it?”  asked  Oonah. 

“ No,  alanna  ,”  said  Larry;  “ shoe-aside  is  Latin  for  cut- 
ting your  throat.” 

“But  he  didn't  cut  hij  throat,”  said  the  widow. 

“ But  sure  it's  all  one  whether  he  done  it  wid  a razhir 
on  his  throat,  or  a hammer  on  his  head;  it's  shoe-aside  all 
the  same.” 

“ But  there  was  no  hammer  found,  was  there?”  said  the 
widow. 

“No,”  said  Larry;  “but  some  people  thought  he  might 
have  hid  the  hammer  afther  he  done  it,  to  take  off  the  dis- 
grace of  the  shoe-aside.” 

* Anything  very  badly  broken  is  said  by  the  Irish  peasantry  to  b© 
in  “ jommethry.” 


84 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ But  wasn't  there  any  life  in  him  when  he  was  found  ?* 

“ Not  a taste.  The  crowner's  jury  sot  on  him,  and  he 
never  said  a word  agin  it,  and  if  he  was  alive  he  would." 

“ And  didn't  they  find  anything  at  all?"  said  Oonah. 

“ Nothing  but  the  vardict,"  said  Larry. 

“ And  was  that  what  killed  him?"  said  Oonah. 

“No,  my  dear;  'twas  the  crack  in  the  head  that  killed 
him,  however  he  kem  by  it;  but  the  vardict  o'  the  crownei 
was,  that  it  was  done,  and  that  some  one  did  it,  and  that 
they  wor  blackguards,  whoever  they  wor,  and  persons 
onknown;  and  sure  if  they  wor  onknown  then,  they'd  al- 
ways stay  so,  for  who'd  know  them  afther  doing  the  like?" 

“ Thrue  for  you,  Larry,"  said  the  widow;  “ but  what 
was  that  to  the  murdher  over  at  the  green  hills  beyant?" 

“Oh!  that  was  the  terriblest  murdher  ever  was  in  the 
place,  or  nigh  it:  that  was  the  murdher  in  earnest!" 

With  that  eagerness  which  always  attends  the  relation  of 
horrible  stories,  Larry  and  the  old  woman  raked  up  every 
murder  and  robbery  that  had  occurred  within  their  recol- 
lection, while  Oonah  listened  with  mixed  curiosity  and 
fear.  The  boiling  over  of  the  pot  at  length  recalled  them 
to  a sense  of  the  business  that  ought  to  be  attended  to  at 
the  moment,  and  Larry  was  invited  to  take  share  of  the 
potatoes.  This  he  declined;  declaring,  as  he  had  done 
some  time  previously,  that  he  must  <(  be  off  home,"  and  to 
the  door  he  went  accordingly;  but  as  the  evening  had 
closed  into  the  darkness  of  the  night,  he  paused  on  open- 
ing it  with  a sensation  he  would  not  have  liked  to  own.  The 
fact  was  that,  after  the  discussion  of  numerous  nightly 
murders,  he  would  rather  have  had  daylight  on  the  outside 
of  the  cabin;  for  the  horrid  stories  that  had  been  revived 
round  the  blazing  hearth  were  not  the  best  preparation  for 
going  a lonely  road  on  a dark  night.  But  go  he  should, 
and  go  he  did;  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  widow, 
from  sympathy,  had  a notion  why  Larry  paused  upon  the 
threshold;  for  the  moment  he  had  crossed  it,  and  that  they 
had  exchanged  their  “ Good  night,  and  God-speed  you," 
the  door  was  rapidly  closed  and  bolted.  The  widow  re- 
turned to  the  fireside  and  was  silent,  while  Oonah  looked 
by  the  light  of  a candle  into  the  boiling  pot,  to  ascertain 
if  the  potatoes  were  yet  done,  and  cast  a fearful  glance  up 
the  wide  chimney  as  she  withdrew  from  the  inspection. 

“ J wish  Larry  did  not  tell  us  such  horrid  stories/'  said 


KAHDY  AKDY.  85 

she,  as  she  laid  the  rushlight  on  the  table;  “ 111  be  dhramin' 
all  night  o'  them.  " 

“'Deed  an' that's  thrue,"  said  the  widow;  “I  wish  he 
hadn't.  " 

“ Sure  you  was  as  bad  yourself/'  said  Oonah. 

“ Troth,  an'  I b'lieve  I was,  child,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it 
now;  but  let  us  ate  our  supper,  and  go  to  bed,  in  God's 
name." 

“I'm  af eared  o' my  life  to  go  to  bed!"  said  Oonah. 
“ Wisha!  but  I'd  give  the  world  it  was  mornin'." 

“Ate  your  supper,  child,  ate  your  supper,"  said  her 
aunt,  giving  the  example,  which  was  followed  by  Oonah; 
and  after  the  light  meal,  their  prayers  were  said,  and  per- 
chance with  a little  extra  devotion,  from  their  peculiar 
state  of  mind;  then  to  bed  they  went.  The  rushlight  being 
extinguished,  the  only  light  remaining  was  that  shed  from 
the  red  embers  of  the  decaying  fire,  which  cast  so  uncer- 
tain a glimmer  within  the  cabin,  that  its  effect  was  almost 
worse  than  utter  darkness  to  a timid  person;  for  any  object 
within  its  range  assumed  a form  unlike  its  own,  and  pre- 
sented some  fantastic  image  to  the  eye;  and  as  Oonah,  con- 
trary to  her  usual  habit,  could  not  fall  asleep  the  moment 
she  went  to  bed,  she  could  not  resist  peering  forth  from  under 
the  bedclothes  through  the  uncertain  gloom,  in  a painful 
state  of  watchfulness,  which  became  gradually  relaxed  into 
an  uneasy  sleep. 

The  night  was  about  half  spent  when  Andy  began  to 
awake;  and  as  he  stretched  his  arms,  and  rolled  his  whole 
body  round,  he  struck  the  bottom  of  the  bed  above  him 
in  the  action  and  woke  his  mother.  “Dear  me,"  thought 
the  widow,  “ I can't  sleep  at  all  to-night."  Andy  gave  an- 
other turn  soon  after,  which  roused  Oonah.  She  started, 
and  shaking  her  aunt,  asked  her,  in  a low  voice,  if  it  was 
she  who  kicked  her,  though  she  scarcely  hoped  an  answer 
in  the  affirmative,  and  yet  dared  not  believe  what  her  fears 
Whispered. 

“ No,  a cushla ,"  whispered  the  aunt. 

“Did  you  feel  anything?"  asked  Oonah,  trembling 
violently. 

“What  do  you  mane,  cilanna  ?”  said  the  aunt. 

Andy  gave  another  roll.  “There  it  is  again!"  gasped 
Oonah;  and  in  a whisper,  scarcely  above  her  breath,  she 
added,  “Aunt,  there's  some  one  under  the  bed!" 


86 


HANDY  ANDY. 


The  aunt  did  not  answer;  but  the  two  women  drew 
closer  together  and  held  each  other  in  their  arms,  as  if 
their  proximity  afforded  protection.  Thus  they  lay  in 
breathless  fear  for  some  minutes,  while  Andy  began  to  be 
influenced  by  a vision,  in  which  the  duel,  and  the  chase, 
and  the  thrashing  were  all  enacted  over  again,  and  soon  an 
odd  word  began  to  escape  from  the  dream.  “ Gi’  me  the 
pist’l,  Dick — the  pist’l!” 

“ There  are  two  of  them!”  whispered  Oonah.  “ God  be 
merciful  to  us!  Do  you  hear  him  asking  for  the  pistol?” 

“ Screech!”  said  her  aunt. 

“I  can’t,”  said  Oonah. 

Andy  was  quiet  for  some  time,  while  the  women  scarcely 
breathed. 

“ Suppose  we  get  up,  and  make  for  the  door?”  said  the 
aunt. 

“ I wouldn’t  put  my  foot  out  of  the  bed  for  the  world,” 
said  Oonah.  “ Dm  afeared  one  o’  them  will  catch  me  by 
the  leg.” 

“Howld  him,  howld  him!”  grumbled  Andy. 

“I’ll  die  with  the  fright,  aunt!  I feel  Dm  dyin’!  Let 
us  say  our  prayers,  aunt,  for  we’re  goin’tobe  murdhered!” 
The  two  women  began  to  repeat  with  fervor  their  aves  and 
pater  nosters , while  at  this  immediate  juncture,  Andy’s 
dream  having  borne  him  to  the  dirty  ditch  where  Dick 
Dawson  had  pummeled  him,  he  began  to  vociferate, 
“ Murder,  murder!”  so  fiercely,  that  the  women  screamed 
together  in  an  agony  of  terror,  and  “Murder!  murder!” 
was  shouted  by  the  whole  party;  for,  once  the  widow  and 
Oonah  found  their  voices,  they  made  good  use  of  them. 
The  noise  awoke  Andy,  who  had,  be  it  remembered,  a tol- 
erably long  sleep  by  this  time:  and  he  having  quite  forgot- 
ten where  he  had  lain  down,  and  finding  himself  confined 
by  the  bed  above  him,  and  smothering  for  want  of  air, 
with  the  fierce  shouts  of  murder  ringing  in  his  ear,  woke 
in  as  great  a fright  as  the  women  in  the  bed,  and  beeame  a 
party  in  the  terror  he  himself  had  produced;  every  plunge 
he  gave  under  the  bed  inflicted  a poke  or  a kick  on  his 
mother  and  cousin,  which  was  answered  by  the  cry  of 
“ Murder!” 

“Let  me  out — let  me  out,  Misther  Dick!”  roared  Andy. 
“ Where  am  I at  all?  Let  me  out!” 

“Help!  help!  murdher!”  roared  the  women. 


Aid  Df.  8? 

“Til  never  shoot  any  one  again,  Misther  Dick— let  me 
up!" 

Andy  scrambled  from  under  the  bed,  half  awake,  and 
whole  frightened  by  the  darkness  and  the  noise,  which  was 
now  increased  by  the  barking  of  the  cur-dog. 

“Hie  at  him.  Coaly!”  roared  Mrs.  Kooney;  “howld 
him!  howld  him!” 

Now  as  this  address  was  often  made  to  the  cur  respecting 
the  pig,  when  Mrs.  Eooney  sometimes  wanted  a quiet  mo- 
ment in  the  day,  and  the  pig  didn’t  like  quitting  the 
premises,  the  dog  ran  to  the  corner  of  the  cabin  where  the 
pig  habitually  lodged,  and  laid  hold  of  his  ear  with  the 
Strongest  testimonials  of  affection,  which  polite  attention 
the  pig  acknowledged  by  a prolonged  squealing,  that 
drowned  the  voices  of  the  women  and  Andy  together;  and 
now  the  cocks  and  hens  that  were  roosting  on  the  rafters 
of  the  cabin  were  startled  by  the  din,  and  the  crowing 
and  cackling  and  the  flapping  of  the  frightened  fowls,  as 
the  flew  about  in  the  dark,  added  to  the  general  uproar  and 
confusion. 

“A — h!”  screamed  Oonah,  “take  your  hands  off  mel” 
as  Andy,  getting  from  under  the  bed,  laid  his  hand  upon 
it  to  assist  him,  and  caught  a grip  of  his  cousin. 

“ Who  are  you  at  all?”  cried  Andy,  making  another  claw, 
and  catching  hold  of  his  mother’s  nose. 

“ Oonah,  they’re  murdhering  me!”  shouted  the  widow. 

The  name  of  Oonah,  and  the  voice  of  his  mother,  re- 
called his  senses  to  Andy,  who  shouted,  “Mother,  mother! 
What’s  the  matter?”  A frightened  hen  flew  in  his  face,  and 
hearty  knocked  Andy  down.  “Bad  cess  to  you!”  cried 
Andy,  “ what  do  you  hit  me  for?” 

“ Who  are  you  at  all?”  cried  the  widow. 

“ Don’t  you  know  me?”  said  Andy. 

“No,  I don\  know  you:  by  the  vartue  o’  my  oath,  I 
don’t;  and  I’ll  never  swear  again  you,  jintlemen,  if  you 
lave  the  place  and  spare  our  lives!” 

Here  the  hens  flew  against  the  dresser,  and  smash  went 
the  plates  and  dishes. 

“ Oh,  jintlemen  dear,  don’t  rack  and  ruin  me  that  way; 
don’t  destroy  a lone  woman.” 

“Mother,  mother,  what’s  this  at  all?  Don’t  you  know 
your  own  Andy?” 


HAKBY  AKDY. 


“ Is  it  you  that's  there?"  cried  the  widow,  catching  hold 
of  him. 

“ To  he  sure  it's  me,"  said  Andy. 

“ You  won't  let  us  be  murdhered,  will  you?" 

“ Who'd  murdher  you?" 

“ Them  people  that's  with  you."  Smash  went  another- 
plate.  “ Do  you  hear  that? — they're  rackin'  my  place,  the 
villains!" 

“ Divil  a one's  wid  me  at  all!"  said  Andy. 

“ I'll  take  my  oath  there  was  three  or  four  under  the 
bed/'  said  Oonah. 

“Not  one  but  myself,"  said  Andy. 

“ Are  you  sure?"  said  his  mother. 

“ Cock  sure!"  said  Andy,  and  a loud  crowing  gave  evh 
dence  in  favor  of  his  assertion. 

“The  fowls  is  going  mad,"  said  the  widow. 

“ And  the  pig's  distracted,"  said  Oonah. 

“ No  wonder!  the  dog's  murdherin'  him,"  said  Andy. 

“ Get  up  and  light  the  rushlight,  Oonah,"  said  the 
widow;  “you'll  get  a spark  out  o'  the  turf  cendhers." 

“Some  o'  them  will  catch  me,  may  be," said  Oonah. 

“Get  up,  I tell  you!"  said  the  widow. 

Oonah  now  arose,  and  poked  her  way  to  the  fire-place, 
where,  by  dint  of  blowing  upon  the  embers  and  poking  the 
rushlight  among  the  turf  ashes,  a light  was  at  length  ob- 
tained. She  then  returned  to  the  bed,  and  threw  her  pet- 
ticoat over  her  shoulders. 

“ What's  this  at  all?"  said  the  widow,  rising,  and  wrap- 
ping a blanket  round  her. 

“ Bad  cess  to  tho  know  I know!"  said  Andy* 

€C  Look  under  the  bed,  Oonah,"  said  the  aunt. 

Oonah  obeyed,  and  screamed,  and  ran  behind  Andy. 
“ There's  another  here  yet!"  said  she. 

Andy  seized  the  poker*  and  standing  on  the  defensive, 
desired  the  villain  to  come  out:  the  demand  was  not  com- 
plied with. 

“ There's  nobody  there,"  said  Andy. 

“I'll  take  my  oath  there  is,"  said  Oonah;  “ a dirty  black- 
guard, without  any  clothes  on  him." 

“ Come  out,  you  robber!"  said  Andy,  making  a lunge 
under  the  truckle. 

A grunt  ensued,  and  out  rushed  the  pig,  who  had  escaped 
from  the  dog — the  dog  having  discovered  a greater  attrac- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


tion  in  some  fat  that  was  knocked  from  the  dresser*  which 
the  widow  intended  for  the  dipping  of  rushes  in;  but  the 
dog  being  enlightened  to  his  own  interests  v^thout  rush- 
lights* and  preferring  mutton  fat  to  pig’s  ear*  had  suffered 
the  grunter  to  go  at  large*  while  he  was  captivated  by  the 
fat.  The  clink  of  a three-legged  stool  the  widow  seized  to 
the  rescue  was  a stronger  argument  against  the  dog  than  he 
was  prepared  to  answer*  and  a remnant  of  fat  was  preserved 
from  the  rapacious  Coaly. 

“ Where’s  the  rest  o’  the  robbers?”  said  Oonah;  “ there’s 
three  o’  them*  1 know.” 

“ You’re  dhramin’*”  said  Andy.  “ Divil  a robber  is  here 
but  myself.” 

“ And  what  brought  you  here?”  said  his  mother. 

“I  was  af eared  they’d  murdher  me!”  said  Andy. 

“Murdher!”  exclaimed  the  widow  and  Oonah  together* 
still  startled  by  the  very  sound  of  the  word.  “ Who  do 
you  mane?” 

“Misther  Dick*”  said  Andy. 

“Aunt*  I tell  you*”  said  Oonah*  “this  is  some  more 
of  Andy’s  blundhers.  Sure  Misther  Dawson  wouldn’t  be 
goin’  to  murther  any  one;  let  us  look  round  the  cabin* 
and  find  out  who’s  in  it*  for  I won’t  be  aisy  ontil  1 
look  into  every  corner*  to  see  there’s  no  robbers  in  the 
place : for  I tell  you  again*  there  was  three  o’  them  undher 
the  bed.” 

The  search  was  made*  and  the  widow  and  Oonah  at 
length  satisfied  that  there  were  no  midnight  assassins  there 
with  long  knives  to  cut  their  throats;  and  then  they  began 
to  thank  God  that  their  lives  were  safe. 

“But*  oh!  look  at  my  chaynee!”  said  the  widow*  clasp- 
ing her  hands*  and  casting  a look  of  despair  at  the  shat- 
tered delf  that  lay  around  her;  “look  at  my  chaynee!” 

“ And  what  was  it  brought  you  here?”  said  Oonah*  fac- 
ing round  on  Andy*  with  a dangerous  look*  rather*  in  her 
bright  eye.  “Will  you  tell  us  that — what  was  it?” 

“ I came  to  save  my  life*  I tell  you*”  said  Andy. 

“ To  put  us'indhread  of  ours*  you  mane*”  said  Oonah. 
“ Just  look  at  the  omadhaun  there*”  said  she  to  her  aunt* 
“ standin’  with  his  mouth  open*  just  as  if  nothin’  happened* 
and  he  after  frightening  the  lives  out  of  us.” 

“Thrue  for  you*  alanna *”  said  her  aunt. 

“ And  would  no  place  sarve  you*  indeed,  but  undher  our 


§3 


HANDY  ANDY. 


bed,  you  vagabone?”  said  his  mother,  roused  to  a sense  oi 
his  delinquency;  “ to  come  in  like  a merodin'  villain  as  you 
are,  and  hid%  under  the  bed,  and  frighten  the  lives  out  of 
us,  and  rack  and  ruin  my  place !" 

“ 'Twas  Misther  Dick,  I tell  you,"  said  Andy. 

“Bad  scran  to  you,  you  unlucky  hangin'  bone  thief !'' 
cried  the  widow,  seizing  him  by  the  hair,  and  giving  him  a 
hearty  cuff  on  the  ear,  which  would  have  knocked  him 
down,  only  that  Oonah  kept  him  up  by  an  equally  well-ap-t 
plied  box  on  the  other. 

“Would  you  murdher  me?"  shouted  Andy,  as  he  saw 
his  mother  lay  hold  of  the  broom. 

“Aren't  you  after  frightening  the  lives  out  of  us,  you 
dirty,  good-for-nothing,  mischief-making — " 

On  poured  the  torrent  of  abuse,  rendered  more  impress- 
ive by  a whack  at  every  word.  Andy  roared,  and  the 
more  he  roared  the  more  did  Oonah  and  his  mother  thrash 
him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

“Love  rules  the  camp,  the  court,  the  grove. 

And  men  below  and  saints  above: 

For  Love  is  Heaven,  and  Heaven  is  Love — ” 

So  sung  Scott.  Quite  agreeing  with  the  antithesis  of  the 
last  line,  perhaps  in  the  Second,  where  he  talks  of  men  and 
saints,  another  view  of  the  subject,  or  turn  of  the  phrase, 
might  have  introduced  sinners  quite  as  successfully.  This 
is  said  without  the  smallest  intention  of  using  the  word 
sinners  in  a questionable  manner.  Love,  in  its  purest 
shape,  may  lead  to  sinning  on  the  part  of  persons  least  in- 
terested in  the  question;  for  is  it  not  a sin  when  the  folly, 
or  caprice,  or  selfishness  of  a third  party  or  fourth  makes  a 
trio  or  quartet  of  that  which  nature  undoubtedly  in- 
tended for  a duet,  and  so  spoils  it? 

Fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers,  uncles,  aunts — ay, 
and  even  cousins — sometimes  put  in  their  oar  to  disturb 
that  stream  which  is  troubled  enough  without  their  inter- 
ference, and,  as  the  Bard  of  Avon  says, 

“ Never  did  run  smooth.” 

And  so  it  was  in  the  case  of  Fanny  Dawson  and  Edward 
O'Connor.  A piece  of  innocent  fun  on  the  part  of  her 
brother,  and  blind  pertinacity — indeed,  downright  ab- 


Sandy  andy. 


91 


surdity— on  her  father’s  side,  interrupted  the  intercourse 
of  affection,  which  had  subsisted  silently  for  many  a long 
day  between  the  lovers,  but  was  acknowledged,  at  last, 
with  delight  to  the  two  whom  it  most  concerned,  and  sat- 
isfaction to  all  who  knew  or  held  them  dear.  Yet  the 
harmony  of  this  sweet  concordance  of  spirits  was  marred 
by  youthful  frolic  and  doting  absurdity.  This  welding  to- 
gether of  hearts  in  the  purest  fire  of  nature’s  own  contriv- 
ing was  broken  at  a blow  by  a weak  old  man.  Is  it  too 
much  to  call  this  a sin ? Less  mischievous  things  are 
branded  with  the  name  in  the  common-place  parlance  of 
the  world.  The  cold  and  phlegmatic  may  not  understand 
this;  but  they  who  can  love  know  how  bitterly  every  after- 
hour of  life  may  be  poisoned  with  the  taint  which  hapless 
love  has  infused  into  the  current  of  future  years,  and  can 
believe  how  many  a heart  equal  to  the  highest  enterprise 
has  been  palsied  by  the  touch  of  despair.  Sweet  and  holy 
is  the  duty  of  child  to  parent;  but  sacred  also  is  the  obliga- 
tion of  those  who  govern  in  so  hallowed  a position.  Their 
rule  should  be  guided  by  justice;  they  should  pray  for 
judgment  in  their  mastery. 

Fanny  Dawson’s  father  was  an  odd  sort  of  person.  His 
ancestors  were  settlers  in  Ireland  of  the  time  of  William 
the  Third,  and  having  won  their  lands  by  the  sword,  it  is 
quite  natural  the  love  of  arms  should  have  been  hereditary 
in  the  family.  Mr.  Dawson,  therefore,  had  served  many 
years  as  a soldier,  and  was  a bit  of  a martinet,  not  only  in 
military  but  in  all  other  affairs.  His  mind  was  of  so 
tenacious  a character,  that  an  impression  once  received 
there  became  indelible;  and  if  the  Major  once  made  up  his 
mind,  or  indulged  the  belief,  that  such  and  such  things 
were  so  and  so,  the  waters  of  truth  could  never  wash  out 
the  mistake — stubbornness  had  written  them  there  with 
her  own  indelible  marking-ink. 

How,  one  of  the  old  gentleman’s  weak  points  was  a mu- 
seum of  the  most  heterogeneous  nature,  consisting  of  odds 
and  ends  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  appertaining  to 
all  subjects.  Nothing  was  too  high  or  too  low:  a bronze 
helmet  from  the  plains  of  Marathon,  which,  to  the  classic 
eye  of  an  artist,  conveyed  the  idea  of  a Minerva’s  head  be- 
neath hq  would  not  have  been  more  prized  by  the  Major 
than  .*  cavalry  cap  with  some  bullet-mark  of  wThich  he  could 
Ull  ij  anecdote.  A certain  skin  of  a tiger  he  prized  much. 


HANDY  AND?. 


92 

because  the  animal  had  dined  on  his  dearest  friend  in  one 
of  the  jungles  of  Bengal;  also  a pistol  which  he  vouched  for 
as  being  the  one  with  which  Hatfield  fired  at  George  the 
Third;  the  hammer  with  which  Crawley  (of  Hessian-boot 
memory)  murdered  his  landlady;  the  string  which  was  on 
Viotti's  violin  when  he  played  before  Queen  Charlotte; 
the  horn  which  was  supposed  to  be  in  the  lantern  of  Guy 
Fawkes;  a small  piece  of  the  coat  worn  by  the  Prince  of  Or- 
ange on  his  landing  in  England;  and  other  such  relics. 
But  far  above  these,  the  Major  prized  the  skeleton  of  a 
horse's  head,  which  occupied  the  principal  place  in  his 
museum.  This  he  declared  to  be  part  of  the  identical 
horse  which  bore  Duke  Schomberg  when  he  crossed  the 
Boyne,  in  the  celebrated  battle  so  called;  and  with  whimsi- 
cal ingenuity,  he  had  contrived  to  string  some  wires  upon 
the  bony  fabric,  which  yielded  a sort  of  hurdy-gurdy  vi- 
bration to  the  strings  when  touched : and  the  Major's  most 
favorite  feat  was  to  play  the  tune  of  the  Boyne  Water  on 
the  head  of  Duke  Schomberg's  horse.  In  short,  his  col- 
lection was  composed  of  trifles  from  north,  south,  east,  and 
west:  some  leaf  from  the  prodigal  verdure  of  India,  or 
gorgeous  shell  from  the  Pacific,  or  paw  of  bear,  or  tooth  of 
walrus;  but  beyond  all  teeth,  one  pre-eminently  was  val- 
ued— it  was  one  of  his  own,  which  he  had  lost  the  use  of 
* by  a wound  in  the  jaw,  received  in  action;  and  no  one  ever 
entered  his  house  and  escaped  without  hearing  all  about  it, 
from  the  first  shot  fired  in  the  affair  by  the  skirmishers,  to 
the  last  charge  of  the  victorious  cavalry.  The  tooth  wTas 
always  produced  along  with  the  story,  together  with  the 
declaration,  that  every  dentist  who  ever  saw  it  protested  it 
was  the  largest  human  tooth  ever  seen.  Now  some  little 
sparring  was  not  infrequent  between  old  Mr.  Dawson  and 
Edward,  on  the  subject  of  their  respective  museums:  the 
old  gentleman  (S  pooh-poohing  " Edward's  “ rotten,  rusty 
rubbish,"  as  he  called  it,  and  Edward  defending,  as  gently 
as  he  could,  his  patriotic  partiality  for  natural  antiquities. 
This  little  wTar  never  led  to  any  evil  results;  for  Edward 
not  only  loved  Fanny  too  well,  but  respected  age  too  much 
to  lean  hard  on  the  old  gentleman's  weakness,  or  seek  to  re- 
duce his  fancied  superiority  as  a collector;  but  the  tooth, 
the  ill-omened  tooth,  at  last  gnawed  asunder  the  bond  of 
friendship  and  affection  which  had  ^subsisted  between  the 
two  families  for  so  many  years. 


HAKDY  AtfDY. 


The  Major  had  paraded  his  tooth  so  often,  that  Dick 
Dawson  began  to  tire  of  it,  and  for  the  purpose  of  making 
it  a source  of  amusement  to  himself,  he  stole  his  father’s 
keys,  one  day,  and  opening  the  cabinet  in  which  his  tooth 
was  enshrined,  he  abstracted  the  grinder  which  nature  had 
bestowed  on  the  Major,  and  substituted  in  its  stead  a horse’s 
tooth  of  no  contemptible  dimensions.  A party  some  days 
after  dined  with  the  old  gentleman,  and  after  dinner  the 
story  of  the  skirmish  turned  up,  as  a matter  of  course,  and 
the  enormous  size  of  the  tooth  wound  up  the  tedious  tale. 

“ Hadn’t  you  better  show  it  to  them,  sir?”  said  Dick,  from 
the  foot  of  the  table. 

“ Indeed,  then,  I will,”  said  the  Major;  “for  it  really  is 
a curiosity.” 

“ Let  me  go  for  it,  sir,”  said  Dick,  well  knowing  he  would 
be  refused. 

“ No,  no,”  answered  his  father,  rising;  “ I never  let  any 
one  go  to  my  pet  cabinet  but  myself;”  and  so  saying  he 
left  the  room,  and  proceeded  to  his  museum.  It  has  been 
already  said  that  the  Major’s  mind  was  of  that  character, 
which  once  being  satisfied  of  anything  could  never  be  con- 
vinced of  the  contrary;  and  having  for  years  been  in  the 
habit  of  drawing  his  own  tooth  out  of  his  own  cabinet,  the 
increased  size  of  the  one  which  he  now  extracted  from  it 
never  struck  him;  so  he  returned  to  the  dining-room,  and 

Suited  with  great  exultation  to  the  company  the  tooth 
had  substituted.  It  maybe  imagined  how  the  people 
stared,  when  an  old  gentleman,  and  moreover  a major,  de- 
clared, upon  his  honor,  that  a great  horse’s  tooth  was  his 
own;  but  having  done  so,  politeness  forbade  they  should 
contradict  him,  more  particularly  at  the  head  of  his  own 
table,  so  they  smothered  their  smiles  as  well  as  they  could, 
and  declared  it  was  the  most  wonderful  tooth  they  ever  be- 
held; and  instead  of  attempting  to  question  the  fact,  they 
launched  forth  in  expressions  of  admiration  and  surprise, 
and  the  fable,  instead  of  being  questioned,  was  received 
with  welcome,  and  made  food  for  mirth.  The  difficulty 
was  not  to  laugh;  and  in  the  midst  of  twisted  mouths,  af- 
fected sneezing,  and  applications  of  pocket-handkerchiefs 
to  rebellious  cachinnations,  Dick,  the  maker  of  the  joke,  sat 
unmoved,  sipping  his  claret  with  a serenity  which  might 
have  roused  the  envy  of  a Red  Indian. 

“I  think  that’s  something  like  a tooth!”  said  Dick, 


94 


HAKDY  A2TDY. 


<€  Prodigious-wonderful — tremendous  I"  ran  round  the 

board. 

“ Give  it  to  me  again,"  said  one. 

e<  Lef  me  look  at  it  once  more,"  said  another. 

sc  Colossal!"  exclaimed  a third. 

€€  Gigantic!"  shouted  all,  as  the  tooth  made  the  circuit 
of  the  table. 

The  Major  was  delighted,  and  never  remembered  his 
tooth  to  have  created  such  a sensation;  and  when  at  last  i\ 
was  returned  to  him,  he  turned  it  about  in  his  own  hand, 
and  cast  many  fond  glances  at  the  monstrosity,  before  it 
was  finally  deposited  in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  This  was 
the  most  ridiculous  part  of  the  exhibition:  to  see  a gentle- 
man, with  the  use  of  his  eyes,  looking  affectionately  at  a 
thumping  -horse's  tooth,  and  believing  it  to  be  his  own. 
Yet  this  was  a key  to  the  Major's  whole  character.  A re- 
ceived opinion  was  with  him  unchangeable,  no  alteration  of 
circumstances  could  shake  it:  it  was  his  tooth . A belief 
or  a doubt  was  equally  sacred  with  him;  and  thougli  his 
senses  in  the  present  case  should  have  shown  him  it  was  a 
horse's  tooth — no,  it  was  a piece  of  himself — his  own  dear 
tooth. 

After  this  party,  the  success  which  crowned  his  anecdote 
and  its  attendant  relic  made  him  fonder  of  showing  it  off; 
and  many  a day  did  Dick  the  Devil  enjoy  the  astonishment 
of  visitors  as  his  father  exhibited  the  enormous  tooth  as 
his  own.  Fonder  and  fonder  grew  the  Major  of  his  tooth 
and  his  story,  until  the  unlucky  day  Edward  O'Connor 
happened  to  be  in  the  museum,  with  a party  of  ladies,  to 
whom  the  old  gentleman  was  showing  off  his  treasures  with 
great  effect  and  some  pains;  for  the  Major,  like  most  old 
soldiers,  was  very  attentive  to  the  fair  sex.  At  last  the  pet 
cabinet  was  opened,  and  out  came  the  tooth.  One  univer- 
sal exclamation  of  surprise  arose  on  its  appearance:  “ What 
a wonderful  man  the  Major  was  to  have  such  a tooth!'* 
J ust  then,  by  an  unlucky  chance,  Edward,  who  had  net 
seen  the  Major  produce  the  wonder  from  his  cabinet,  per- 
ceived the  relic  in  the  hand  of  one  of  the  ladies  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  group,  and,  fancying  it  had  dropped  from 
the  horse's  head,  he  said: 

“ I suppose  that  is  one  of  the  teeth  out  of  old  Schom- 
berg's  skull." 

The  Major  thought  this  an  impertinent  allusion  to  hta 


HANDY  ANDY.  95 

Eolitical  bias,  and  said,  very  sharply,  “ What  do  you  mean 
y old  Schomberg?" 

“The  horse's  head,  sir,"  replied  Edward,  pointing  to  tha 
musical  relic. 

“It  was  of  my  tooth  you  spoke,  sir,  when  you  said  c old 
Schomberg,' " returned  the  major,  still  more  offended  at 
what  he  considered  Edward's  evasion. 

“I  assure  you,"  said  Edward,  with  the  strongest  evi- 
dence of  a desire  to  be  reconciled  in  his  voice  and  manner 
—“I  assure  you,  sir,  it  was  of  this  tooth  I spoke;"  and  he 
held  up  the  tooth  the  Major  had  produced  as  his  own. 

“I  know  it  was,  sir,"  said  the  major,  “and  therefore  I 
didn't  relish  your  allusions  to  my  tooth." 

“ Your  tooth,  sir?"  exclaimed  Edward,  in  surprise, 
“Yes,  sir,  mine!" 

“My  dear  sir,"  said  Edward,  “ there  is  some  mistake 
here;  this  is  a horse's  tooth." 

“Give  it  to  me,  sir!"  said  the  Major,  snatching  it  from 
Edward.  “ You  may  think  this  very  witty,  Mr.  O'Connor, 
but  / don't;  if  my  tooth  is  of  superhuman  size,  I'm  not  to 
be  called  a horse  for  it,  sir; — nor  Schomberg,  sir! — horse — 
ahem!  better  than  ass,  however." 

While  this  brief  but  angry  outbreak  took  place,  the  by- 
standers, of  course,  felt  excessively  uncomfortable;  and 
poor  Edward  knew  not  what  to  do.  The  Major  he  knew 
to  be  of  too  violent  a temper  to  attempt  explanation  for  the 
present:  so  bowing  to  the  ladies,  he  left  the  room,  with 
that  flushed  look  of  silent  vexation  to  which  courteous 
youth  is  sometimes  obliged  to  submit  at  the  hands  of  in- 
temperate age. 

Neither  Fanny  nor  Dick  was  at  home  when  this  occurred, 
so  Edward  quitted  the  house,  and  was  forbidden  to  enter  it 
afterward.  The  Major  suddenly  entertained  a violent  dis- 
like to  Edward  O'Connor,  and  hated  even  to  hear  his  name 
mentioned.  It  was  in  vain  that  explanation  was  attempted; 
his  self-love  had  received  a violent  shock,  of  which  Edward 
had  been  the  innocent  means.  In  vain  did  Dick  endeavor 
to  make  himself  the  peace-offering  to  his  father's  wounded 
consequence;  in  vain  was  it  manifest  that  Fanny  was 
grieved:  the  old  Major  persisted  in  declaring  that  Edward, 
O'Connor  was  a self-sufficient  jackanapes,  and  forbade  most 
peremptorily  that  further  intercourse  should  take  place  be- 
tween him  and  his  daughter;  and  she  had  too  high  a sense 


96 


HANDY  ANDY. 


of  duty,  and  he  of  honor,  to  * seek  to  violate  the  command. 
But  though  they  never  met,  they  loved  not  the  less  fondly 
and  truly;  and  Dick,  grieved  that  a frolic  of  his  should 
have  interrupted  the  happiness  of  a sister  he  loved  and  a 
friend  he  valued,  kept  up  a sort  of  communion  between 
them  by  talking  to  Edward  about  Fanny,  and  to  Fanny 
about  Edward,  whose  last  song  was  sure,  through  the  good 
offices  of  the  brother,  to  find  its  way  into  the  sister’s  al- 
bum, already  stored  with  many  a tribute  from  her  lover’s 
muse. 

Fanny  was  a sweet  creature — one  of  those  choice  and 
piquant  bits  of  Nature’s  creation  which  she  sometimes 
vouchsafes  to  treat  the  world  with;  just  to  show  what  she 
can  do.  Her  person  I shall  not  attempt  to  describe;  for 
however  one  may  endeavor  to  make  words  play  the  part  of 
color,  lineament,  voice,  and  expression — and  however  suc- 
cessfully— still  a verbal  description  can  never  convey  a 
true  notion  of  personal  charms;  and  personal  charms 
Fanny  had,  decidedly;  not  that  she  was  strictly  beautiful, 
but,  at  times,  nevertheless,  eclipsing  beauty  far  more  reg- 
ular, and  throwing  symmetry  into  the  shade,  by  some 
charm  which  even  they  whom  it  fascinated  could  not  de- 
fine. 

Her  mind  was  as  clear  and  pure  as  a mountain  stream; 
and  if  at  times  it  chafed  and  was  troubled  from  the  course 
in  which  it  ran,  the  temporary  turbulence  only  made  its 
limpid  depth  and  quietness  more  beautiful.  Her  heart 
was  the  very  temple  of  generosity,  the  throne  of  honor,  and 
the  seat  of  tenderness.  The  gentlest  sympathies  dwelt  in 
her  soul,  and  answered  to  the  slightest  call  of  another’s 
grief;  while  mirth  was  dancing  in  her  eye,  a word  that  im- 
plied the  sorrow  of  another  would  bring  a tear  there.  She 
was  the  sweetest  creature  in  the  world! 

The  old  Major,  used  to  roving  habits  from  his  profes- 
sion, would  often  go  on  a ramble  somewhere  for  weeks  to- 
gether, at  which  times  Fanny  went  to  Merryvale  to  her 
sister.  Mistress  Egan,  who  was  also  a fine-hearted  creat- 
ure, but  less  soft  and  sentimental  than  Fanny.  She  was 
of  the  dashing  school  rather,  and  before  she  became  the 
mother  of  so  large  a family,  thought  very  little  of  riding 
over  a gate  or  a fence.  Indeed,  it  was  her  high  mettle 
that  won  her  the  Squire’s  heart.  The  story  is  not  long, 
and.  it  may  as  well  be  told  here~though  a little  out  oi 


HANDY  ANDY.  97 

place,  perhaps;  but  it's  an  Irish  story,  and  may  therefore 

be  gently  irregular. 

The  Squire  had  admired  Letitia  Dawson,  as  most  of  the 
young  men  of  her  acquaintance  did — appreciated  her  round 
waist  and  well-turned  ankle,  her  spirited  eyes  and  cheerful 
laugh,  and  danced  with  her  at  every  ball  as  much  as  any 
other  fine  girl  in  the  country:  but  never  seriously  thought 
of  her  as  a wife,  until  one  day  a party  visited  the  parish 
church,  whose  old  tower  was  often  ascended  for  the  fine 
view  it  commanded.  At  this  time  the  tower  was  under 
repair,  and  the  masons  were  drawing  up  materials  in  a 
basket,  which,  worked  by  a rope  and  pulley,  swung  on  a 
beam  protruding  from  the  top  of  the  tower.  The  basket 
had  just  been  lowered  for  a fresh  load  of  stones,  when  Le- 
titia exclaimed,  “ Wouldn't  it  be  fine  fun  to  get  into  the 
basket,  and  be  hauled  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower? — how 
astonished  the  workmen  would  be  to  see  a lady  get  out  of 
it!* 

“ I would  be  more  astonished  to  see  a lady  get  into  it," 
said  a gentleman  present. 

“ Then  here  goes  to  astonish  you,"  said  Letitia,  laying 
hold  of  the  rope  and  jumping  into  the  basket.  In  vain  did 
her  friends  and  the  workmen  below  endeavor  to  dissuade 
her;  up  she  would  go,  and  up  she  did  go;  and  it  was  during 
her  ascent  that  Egan  and  a friend  were  riding  toward  the 
church.  Their  attention  was  attracted  by  so  strange  a 
sight;  and,  spurring  onward,  Egan  exclaimed,  “By  the 
powers!  'tis  Letty  Dawson!  Well  done,  Letty! — you're  the 
right  girl  for  my  money!  By  Jove!  if  ever  I marry,  Bet- 
ty's the  woman."  And  sure  enough  she  was  the  woman, 
in  another  month. 

blow,  Fanny  would  not  have  done  the  basket  feat,  btn? 
she  had  plenty  of  fun  in  her,  notwithstanding;  her  spirits 
Were  light;  and  though,  for  some  time,  she  felt  deeply  the 
separation  from  Edward,  she  rallied  after  a while,  felt  that 
unavailing  sorrow  but  impaired  the  health  of  the  mind, 
and,  supported  by  her  good  sense,  she  waited  in  hopeful- 
ness for  the  time  that  Edward  might  claim  and  win  her. 

At  Merryvale,  now,  all  was  expectation  about  the  antici* 
pated  election.  The  ladies  were  making  up  bows  of  ribbon 
for  their  partisans,  and  Fanny  had  been  so  employed  all 
the  morning  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  her  pretty  fingers 
pinching  and  pressing  and  stitching  the  silken  favors,  while 


98 


HANDY  ANDY. 


now  and  then  her  hand  wandered  to  a wicker-basket  which 
lay  beside  her,  to  draw  forth  a scissors  or  a needle-case. 
As  she  worked,  a shade  of  thought  crossed  her  sweet  face, 
like  a passing  cloud  across  the  sun;  the  pretty  fingers 
stopped — the  work  was  laid  down — and  a small  album 
gently  drawn  from  the  neighboring  basket.  She  opened 
the  book  and  read;  they  were  lines  of  Edward  O’Connor’s, 
which  she  drank  into  her  heart;  they  were  the  last  he  had 
written,  which  her  brother  had  heard  him  sing  and  had 
brought  her; 


THE  SNOW. 


An  old  man  sadly  said, 

“ Where’s  the  snow 
That  fell  the  year  that’s  fled? 

Where’s  the  snow?” 

As  fruitless  were  the  task 
Of  many  a joy  to  ask. 

As  the  snow ! 


n. 

The  hope  of  airy  birth. 

Like  the  snow. 

Is  stain’d  on  reaching  earth. 
Like  the  snow: 

While  ’tis  sparkling  in  the  ray 
'Tis  melting  fast  away. 

Like  the  "snow  1 


in. 

A cold,  deceitful  thing 
Is  the  snow, 

Though  it  come  on  dove-like  wing— 

The  false  snow! 

’Tis  but  rain  disguised  appears; 

And  our  hopes  are  frozen  tears. 

Like  the  snow ! 

A tear  did  course  down  Fanny’s  cheek  as  she  read  the 
last  couplet,  and  closing  the  bock  and  replacing  it  in  the 
little  basket,  she  sighed,  and  said,  “ Poor  fellow  I — I wish 
lie  were  not  so  sad!” 


UA&D*  ANDY.  99 


CHAPTER  VHL 

Love  is  of  as  many  patterns,  cuts,  shapes,  and  colors  as 
peopled  garments;  and  the  loves  of  Edward  (FConnor  and 
1 'anny  Dawson  had  very  little  resemblance  to  the  tender 
passion  which  agitated  the  breast  of  the  Widow  Flanagan, 
and  made  Tom  Durfy  her  slave.  Yet  the  widow  and  Tom 
demand  the  offices  of  the  chronicler  as  well  as  the  more 
elevated  pair;  and  this  our  veracious  history  could  never 
get  on,  if  we  exhausted  all  our  energies  upon  the  more  en- 
gaging personages,  to  the  neglect  of  the  rest:  your  plated 
handles,  scrolls,  and  mountings  are  all  very  well  on  your 
carriage,  but  it  could  not  move  without  its  plain  iron  bolts. 

Now  the  reader  must  know  something  of  the  fair  Mis- 
tress Flanagan,  who  was  left  in  very  comfortable  circum- 
stances by  a niggardly  husband,  who  did  her  the  favor  to 
die  suddenly  one  day,  to  the  no  small  satisfaction  of  the 
pleasure-loving  widow,  who  married  him  in  an  odd  sort  of 
a hurry,  and  got  rid  of  him  as  quickly.  Mr.  Flanagan  was 
engaged  in  supplying  the  export  provision  trade,  which, 
every  one  knows,  is  considerable  in  Ireland;  and  his  deal- 
ings in  beef  and  butter  were  extensive.  This  brought  him 
into  contact  with  the  farmers  for  many  miles  round,  whom 
he  met,  not  only  every  nt’arket-day  at  every  market-town 
in  the  county,  but  at  Their  own  houses,  where  a knife  and 
fork  wrere  always  at  the  service  of  the  rich  buyer.  One  of 
these  was  a certain  Mat  Riley,  who,  on  small  means,  man- 
aged to  live,  and  rear  a son  and  three  bouncing,  good- 
looking  girls,  who  helped  to  make  butter,  feed  calves,  and 
superintend  the  education  of  pigs;  and  on  these  active  and 
comely  lasses  Mr.  Flanagan  often  cast  an  eye  of  admiration, 
with  a view  to  making  one  of  them  his  wife;  for  though  he 
might  have  had  his  pick  and  choice  of  many  fine  girls  in 
the  towns  he  dealt  in,  he  thought  the  simple,  thrifty,  and 
industrious  habits  of  a plain  farmer^  daughter  more  likely 
to  conduce  to  his  happiness  and  profit — for  in  that  princi- 
pally lay  the  aforesaid  happiness  of  Mr.  Flanagan.  How, 
this  intention  of  honoring  one  of  the  three  Miss  Rileys  with 
promotion  he  never  hinted  at  in  the  remotest  degree,  and 
even  in  his  own  mind  the  thought  was  mixed  up  with  fat 


100 


HANDY  ANDY. 


cattle  and  prices  current;  and  it  was  not  until  a leisure 
moment  one  day,  when  he  was  paying  Mat  Riley  for  some 
of  his  farming  produce,  that  he  broached  the  subject  thus: 
“Mat!” 

“ Sir!* 

“ Fm  thinking  o'  marrying.” 

“ Well,  shell  have  a snug  house,  whoever  she  is,  Misthcr 

Flanagan.” 

“ Themes  fine  girls  o'  yours.” 

Poor  Mat  opened  his  eyes  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of 
such  a match  for  one  of  his  daughters,  and  said  they  were 
“ comely  lumps  o'  girls,  sure  enough;  but,  what  was  bet- 
ther,  they  wor  good.” 

“ That's  what  I'm  thinking,”  says  Flanagan.  “ There's 
two  ten-poun'  notes,  and  a five,  and  one  is  six,  and  one  is 
seven;  and  three  tenpinnies  is  two-and-sixpence;  that's 
twenty-seven poun'  two-and-sixpence:  eight-pence-ha'penny 
is  the  lot;  but  I haven't  copper  in  my  company.  Mat.” 

“ Oh,  no  matther,  Misther  Flanagan.  And  is  it  one  o' 
my  colleens  you've  been  throwing  the  eye  at,  sir?” 

“ Yes,  Mat,  it  is.  You're  askin'  too  much  for  them 
firkins?” 

“Oh,  Misther  Flanagan,  consider  it's  prime  butther. 
I'll  back  my  girls  for  making  up  a bit  o'  butther  agen  any 
girls  in  Ireland;  and  my  cows  is  good,  and  the  pasture 
prime.  ” 

“ 'Tis  a farthing  a poun'  too  high.  Mat;  and  the  market 
not  lively.” 

“The  butther  is  good,  Mr.  Flanagan;  and  not  decenther 
girls  in  Ireland  than  the  same  girls,  though  I'm  their 
father.” 

“I'm  thinking  I'll  marry  one  o'  them,  Mat.” 

“ Sure,  an'  it's  proud  I'll  be,  sir;  and  which  o'  them  is 
it,  may  be?” 

“ Faith,  I don't  know  myself.  Mat.  Which  do  you  think 

yourself?” 

“ Throth,  myself  doesn't  know — they're  all  good.  Nance 
is  nice,  and  Biddy's  biddable,  and  Kitty's  'cute.” 

“ You're  a snug  man.  Mat;  you  ought  to  be  able  to  give 
a husband  a trifle  with  them.” 

“ Nothing  worth  your  while,  anyhow,  Misther  Flanagan. 
But  sure  one  o'  my  gins  without  a rag  to  her  back,  or  a 
tack  to  her  feet,  would  be  betthe'*’  help  to  an  honest  in- 


SANDY  ANDY. 


101 


dustherin'  man  than  one  o'  your  showy  lantherumswash 
clivils  out  of  a town,  that  would  spend  more  than  she'd 
bring  with  her." 

“ That's  thrue.  Mat.  Ill  marry  one  o'  your  girls,  I 
think." 

“ You'll  have  my  blessin',  sir;  and  proud  I'll  be — and 
proud  the  girl  ought  to  be — that  I'll  say.  And  suppose, 
now,  you'd  come  over  on  Sunday,  and  take  share  of  a plain 
man's  dinner,  and  take  your  pick  o'  the  girls — there's  a fine 
bull  goose  that  Nance  towld  me  she'd  have  ready  afther 
last  mass;  for  Father  Ulick  said  he'd  come  and  dine  with 
us." 

“ I can't.  Mat;  I must  be  in  the  canal-boat  on  Sunday; 
but  I'll  go  and  breakfast  with  you  to-morrow,  on  my  way 
to  Bill  Mooney's,  who  has  a fine  lot  of  pigs  to  sell — remark- 
able fine  pigs." 

“ Well,  we'll  expect  you  to  breakfast,  sir." 

“ Mat,  there  must  be  no  nonsense  about  the  wedding." 

“As  you  plase,  sir." 

“ Just  marry  her  off,  and  take  her  home.  Short  reckon- 
ings make  long  friends." 

“Thrue  for  you,  sir." 

“ Nothing  to  give  with  the  girl,  you  say?" 

“ My  blessin'  only,  sir." 

“Well,  you  must  throw  in  that  butther.  Mat,  and  take 
the  farthin'  off." 

“ It's  yours,  sir,"  said  Mat,  delighted,  loading  Flanagan 
with  “Good-byes,"  and  “ God-save-yous,"  until  they  should 
meet  next  morning  at  breakfast. 

Mat  rode  home  in  great  glee  at  the  prospect  of  providing 
so  well  for  one  of  his  girls,  and  told  them  a man  would  be 
there  the  next  morning  to  make  choice  of  one  of  them  for 
his  wife.  The  girls,  very  naturally,  inquired  who  the  man 
was;  to  which  Mat,  in  the  plenitude  of  patriarchal  power, 
replied,  “that  was  nothing  to  them;"  and  his  daughters 
had  sufficient  experience  of  his  temper  to  Know  there  was 
no  use  in  asking  more  questions  after  such  an  answer.  He 
only  added,  she  would  be  “well  off  that  should  get  him." 
Now,  their  father  being  such  a curmudgeon,  it  is  no  worn 
der  the  girls  were  willing  to  take  the  chance  of  a good- 
humored  husband  instead  of  an  iron-handed  father;  so  they 
set  to  work  to  make  themselves  as  smart  as  possible  for  the 
approaching  trial  of  their  charms,  and  a battle  royal  ensued 


102 


HANDY  ANDY. 


between  the  sisters  as  to  the  right  and  title  to  certain  pieces 
of  dress  which  were  hitherto  considered  a sort  of  common 
property  amongst  them,  and  of  which  the  occasion  of  a fair, 
or  a pattern,*  or  market-day  was  enough  to  establish  the 
possession,  by  whichever  of  the  girls  went  to  the  public 
place;  but  now,  when  a husband  was  to  be  won,  privilege 
of  all  sorts  was  pleaded,  in  which  discussion  there  was  more 
noise  than  sound  reason,  and  so  many  violent  measures  to 
secure  the  envied  morceaux , that  some  destruction  of  finery 
took  place  where  there  was  none  to  spare;  and,  at  last, 
seniority  was  agreed  upon  to  decide  the  question;  so  that 
when  Nance  had  the  first  plunder  of  the  chest  which  held 
all  their  clothes  in  common,  and  Biddy  made  the  second 
grab,  poor  Kitty  had  little  left  but  her  ordinary  rags  to 
appear  in.  But  as,  in  the  famous  judgment  on  Ida’s 
Mount,  it  is  hinted  that  Venus  earned  the  day  by  her 
scarcity  of  drapery,  so  did  Kitty  conquer  by  want  of  clothes: 
not  that  Love  sat  in  judgment;  it  was  Plutus  turned  the 
scale.  But,  to  leave  metaphor  and  classic  illustration,  and 
go  back  to  Mat  Biley’s  cabin — the  girls  were  washing,  and 
starching,  and  ironing  ail  night,  and  the  morning  saw  them 
arrayed  for  conquest.  Flanagan  came,  and  breakfasted, 
and  saw  the  three  girls.  A flashy  silk  handkerchief  which 
Nancy  wore  put  her  hors  de  comhai  very  soon;  she  was  set 
down  at  once,  in  his  mind,  as  extravagant.  Biddy  might 
have  had  a .chance  if  she  had  made  anything  like  a fair 
division  with  her  youngest  sister;  but  Kitty  had  been  so 
plundered,  that  her  shabbiness  v/on  an  easy  victory  over  the 
niggard’s  heart;  he  saw  in  her  “the  making  of  a thrifty 
wife;”  besides  which,  she  was  possibly  the  best-looking,  and 
certainly  the  youngest  of  the  three;  and  there  is  no  know- 
ing how  far  old  Flanagan  might  have  been  influenced  by 
those  considerations. 

He  spoke  very  little  to  any  of  the  girls;  but,  when  he 
was  leaving  the  house,  he  said  to  the  father,  as . he  was 
shaking  hands  with  him,  “Mat,  I’ll  do  it;”  and,  pointing 
to  Kitty,  he  added,  “That’s  the  9ne  I’ll  h^ve.” 

Great  v/as  the  rage  of  the  elder  sisters,  for  Flanagan  was 
notoriously  a wealthy  man;  and  when  he  quitted  the  house. 


* A half  holy,  half-merry  meeting,  held  at  some  certain  place,  on 
the  day  dedicated  to  the  saint  who  is  supposed  to  be  the  patkon  of 
the  spot— hence  the  name  “pattern.” 


HANDY  ANDY, 


103 


Kitty  set  Dp  such  a shout  of  laughter,  that  her  father  and 
Bisters  told  her  several  times  “ not  to  make  a fool  of  her- 
self.” Still  she  laughed,  and  throughout  the  day  some- 
times broke  out  into  sudden  roars;  and  while  her  sides 
shook  with  merriment,  she  would  throw  herself  into  a 
chair,  or  lean  against  the  wall,  to  rest  herself  after  the 
fatigue  of  her  uproarious  mirth.  Now  Kitty,  while  she 
laughed  at  the  discomfiture  of  her  greedy  sisters,  also 
laughed  at  the  mistake  into  which  Flanagan  had  fallen: 
for,  as  her  father  said  of  her,  she  was  “ 'cute,”  and  she 
more  than  suspected  the  cause  of  Flanagan's  choice,  and 
enjoyed  the  anticipation  of  his  disappointment,  for  she  was 
fonder  of  dress  than  either  Nancy  or  Biddy,  and  reveled 
in  the  notion  of  astonishing  “the  old  niggard,”  as  she 
called  him;  and  this  she  did  “ many  a time  and  oft.”  In 
vain  did  Flanagan  try  to  keep  her  extravagance  within 
bounds.  She  would  either  wheedle,  reason,  bully,  or 
shame  him  into  doing  what  she  said  66  was  right  and  proper 
for  a snug  man  like  him.”  His  house  was  soon  well  fur- 
nished; she  made  him  get  her  a jaunting-car.  She  some- 
times ivould  go  to  parties,  and  no  one  was  better  dressed 
than  the  woman  he  chose  for  her  rags.  He  got  enraged 
now  and  then,  but  Kitty  pacified  him  by  soft  words  and 
daring  inventions  of  her  fertile  fancy.  Once,  when  he 
caught  her  in  the  fact  of  wearing  a costly  crimson  silk 
gown,  and  stormed,  she  soothed  him  by  telling  him  it  was 
her  old  black  one  she  had  dyed;  and  this  bouncer,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  her  female  friends,  he  loved  to  repeat, 
as  a proof  of  what  a careful  contriving  creature  he  had  in 
Kitty.  She  was  naturally  quick-witted.  She  managed 
him  admirably,  deceived  him  into  being  more  comfortable 
than  ever  he  had  been  before,  and  had  the  laudable  am- 
bition of  endeavoring  to  improve  both  his  and  her  own  con- 
dition in  every  way*  She  set  about  educating  herself,  too, 
as  far  as  her  notions  of  education  went;  and,  in  a few  years 
after  her  marrying,  by  judiciously  using  the  means  which 
her  husband's  wealth  afforded  her  of  advancing  her  posi- 
tion in  society,  no  one  could  have  recognized  in  the  lively 
and  well-dressed  Mrs.  Flanagan  the  gawky  daughter  of  a 
middling  farmer.  She  was  very  good-natured,  too,  toward 
her  sisters,  whose  condition  she  took  care  to  improve  with 
her  own;  and  a very  fair  match  for  the  eldest  was  made 
through  her  means.  The  younger  one  was  often  staying 


104 


HANDY  ANDY. 


in  her  house,  dividing  her  time  nearly  between  the  town 
and  her  father*s  farm,  and  no  party  which  Mrs.  Flanagan 
gave  or  appeared  at  went  off  without  giving  Biddy  a chance 
to  “ settle  herself  in  the  world.”  This  was  not  done  with-r 
out  a battle  now  and  then  with  old  Flanagan,  whose  stingi- 
ness would  exhibit  itself  upon  occasion;  but  at  last  all  let 
and  hinderance  to  the  merry  lady  ceased,  by  the  sudden 
death  of  her  old  husband,  who  left  her  the  entire  of  his 
property,  so  that,  for  the  first  time,  his  will  was  her  pleas- 
ure. 

After  the  funeral  of  the  old  man,  the  “disconsolate 
widow  ” was  withdrawn  from  her  own  house  by  her  brother 
and  sister  to  the  farm,  which  grew  to  be  a much  more 
comfortable  place  than  when  Kitty  left;  for  to  have  re- 
mained in  her  own  house  after  the  loss  of  “ her  good  man  ” 
would  have  been  too  hard  on  “ the  lone  woman.”  So  said 
her  sister  and  her  brother,  though,  to  judge  from  the 
widow*s  eyes,  she  was  not  very  heart-broken : she  cried  as 
much,  no  doubt,  as  young  widows  generally  do  after  old 
husbands — and  could  Kitty  be  expected  to  do  more? 

She  had  not  been  many  days  in  her  widowhood,  when 
Biddy  asked  her  to  drive  into  the  town,  where  Biddy  had 
to  do  a little  shopping— -that  great  business  of  ladies*  lives. 
“ Oh,  Biddy,  dear,  I must  not  go  out  so  soon.” 

“ *Twill  do  you  good,  Kitty.” 

“I  mustn*t  be  seen,  you  know — *twouldn*tbe  right;  and 
poor  dear  Flanagan  not  buried  a week!” 

“ Sure,  who*ll  see  you?  We*ll  go  in  the  covered-car,  and 
draw  the  curtains  close,  and  who*ll  be  the  wiser?** 

“ If  I thought  no  one  would  see  me!**  said  the  widow. 

“ Ah,  who*ll  see  you?”  exclaimed  Biddy.  “ Come  along 
— the  drive  will  do  you  good.” 

The  widow  agreed;  but  when  Biddy  asked  for  a horse  to 
put  to  the  car,  her  brother  refused,  for  the  only  horse  not 
at  work  he  was  going  to  yoke  in  a cart  that  moment  to 
send  a lamb  to  the  town.  Biddy  vowed  she  would  have  a 
horse,  and  her  brother  swore  the  lamb  should  be  served 
first,  till  Biddy  made  a compromise,  and  agreed  to  take 
the  lamb  under  the  seat  of  the  car,  and  so  please  all  par- 
ties. 

Matters  being  thus  accommodated,  off  the  ladies  set,  the 
lamb  tied  neck  and  heels  and  crammed  under  the  seat, 
and  the  curtains  of  the  car  ready  to  be  drawn  at  a moment*s 


HANDY  ANDY. 


10S 


hotice,  in  case  they  should  meet  any  one  on  the  road;  for 
“ why  should  not  the  poor  widow  enjoy  the  fresh  air  as 
they  drove  along ?"  About  half-way  to  the  town.,  however, 
the  widow  suddenly  exclaimed— 

“ Biddy,  draw  the  curtains!" 

“ What's  the  matter?"  says  Biddy. 

“ I see  him  coming  after  us  round  a turn  o*  the  road!" 
and  the  widow  looked  so  horrified,  and  plucked  at  the  cur- 
tains so  furiously,  that  Biddy,  who  was  superstitious, 
thought  nothing  but  Flanagan's  ghost  could  have  pro- 
duced such  an  effect;  and  began  to  scream  and  utter  holy 
ejaculations,  until  the  sight  of  Tom  Durfy  riding  after 
them  showed  her  the  cause  of  her  sister's  alarm. 

“ If  that  divil,  Tom  Durfy,  sees  me,  he'll  tell  it  all  over 
the  country,  he's  such  a quiz;  shove  yourself  well  before 
the  door  there,  Biddy,  that  he  can't  peep  into  the  car.  Oh, 
why  did  I come  out  this  day!  I wish  your  tongue  was  cut 
out,  Biddy,  that  asked  me!" 

In  the  meantime  Tom  Durfy  closed  on  them  fast,  and 
began  telegraphing  Biddy,  wrho,  according  to  the  widow's 
desire,  had  shoved  herself  well  before  the  door. 

“ Pull  up,  Tim,  pull  up!"  said  the  widow,  from  the  in- 
side of  the  car,  to  the  driver,  whom  she  thumped  on  the 
back  at  the  same  time  to  impress  upon  him  her  meaning; 
“turn  about,  and  pretend  to  drive  back.  We'll  let  that 
fellow  ride  on,"  said  she,  quietly,  to  Biddy. 

Just  as  this  maneuver  was  executed,  up  came  Tom 
Durfy. 

“How  are  you,  Miss  Biley?"  said  he,  as  he  drew  rein. 

“ Pretty  well,  thank  you,"  said  Biddy,  putting  her  head 
and  shoulders  through  the  window,  while  the  widow  shrunk 
back  into  the  corner  of  the  car. 

“How  very  sudden  poor  Mr.  Flanagan's  death  was!  I 
was  quite  surprised." 

“ Yes,  indeed,"  says  Biddy,  u I was  just  taking  a littie 
drive;  good-bye." 

“ I was  very  much  shocked  to  hear  of  it,"  said  Tom. 

“ 'Twas  dreadful!"  said  Biddy. 

“How  is  poor  Mrs.  Flanagan?"  said  Tom. 

“As  well  as  can  be  expected,  poor  thing!  Good-bye!" 
said  Biddy,  manifestly  anxious  to  cut  short  the  conference. 

This  anxiety  was  so  obvious  to  Tom,  who,  for  the  sake 
§>£  fun,  loved  cross-purposes  dearly,  that  he  determined  to 


106  HAKBY  Affl>¥. 

push  his  conversation  further,  just  because  he  saw  it  TO® 
unwelcome. 

“ To  be  sure,”  continued  he,  “ at  his  time  of  life — ” 

“ Very  true,”  said  Biddy.  “ Good -morning.” 

“ And  the  season  has  been  very  unhealthy.” 

“ Doctor  Growling  told  me  so  yesterday,”  said  Biddy; 
€C  I wonder  you're  not  afraid  of  stopping  in  this  east  wind 
— colds  are  very  prevalent.  Good-bye!” 

Just  now  the  Genius  of  Farce,  who  presides  so  particu- 
larly over  all  Irish  aixairs,  put  it  into  the  lamb's  head  to 
bleat.  The  sound  at  first  did  not  strike  Tom  Burfy  as 
singular,  they  being  near  a high  hedge,  within  which  it 
wra.s  likely  enough  a lamb  might  bleat;  but  Biddy,  shocked 
at  the  thought  of  being  discovered  in  the  fact  of  making 
her  jaunting-car  a market-cart,  reddened  up  to  the  eyes, 
while  the  widow  squeezed  herself  closer  into  the  corner. 

Tom,  seeing  the  increasing  embarrassment  of  Biddy,  and 
her  desire  to  be  oil,  still  would  talk  to  her,  for  the  love  of 
mischief. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  he  continued,  “ just  one  moment 
more.  I wanted  to  ask,  was  it  not  apoplexy,  for  I heard 
an  odd  report  about  the  death?” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  says  Biddy,  “apoplexy — good-bye!” 

<(  Did  he  speak  at  all?”  asked  Tom. 

“ Baa!”  says  the  lamb. 

Tom  cocked  his  ears,  Biddy  grew  redder,  and  the  widow 
crammed  her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth  to  endeavor  to 
smother  her  laughter. 

“I  hope  poor  Mrs.  Flanagan  bears  it  well?”  says  Tom. 

“ Poor  thing!”  says  Biddy,  “ she's  inconsolable.” 

“ Baa-a!”  says  the  lamb. 

Biddy  spoke  louder  and  faster,  the  widow  kicked  with 
laughing,  and  Tom  then  suspected  whence  the  sound  j)rO” 
ceeded. 

“ She  does  nothing  but  cry  all  day!”  says  Biddy. 

“ Baa-a-a!”  says  the  lamb. 

The  widow  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  a peal  of 
laughter  followed  the  lamb's  bleat. 

“ What  is  all  this?”  said  Tom,  laying  hold  of  the  cur- 
tains with  relentless  hand,  and,  spite  of  Biddy's  screams, 
rudely  unveiling  the  sanctuary  of  sorrowing  widowhood. 
Oh!  what  a sight  for  the  rising — I beg  their  pardon,  the 
sinking — -generation  of  old  gentlemen  who  take  young 


HANDY  ANDY. 


107 

wives  did  Tom  behold!  There  was  the  widow  lying  bach 
in  the  corner — she  who  was  represented  as  inconsolable 
and  crying  all  day — shaking  with  laughter,  the  tears,  not 
of  sorrow,  but  irrepressible  mirth  rolling  down  a cheek 
rosy  enough  for  a bride. 

Biddy,  of  course,  joined  the  shout.  Tom  roared  in  ah 
agony  of  delight.  The  very  driver's  risibility  rebelled 
against  the  habits  of  respect,  and  strengthened  the  chorus; 
while  the  lamb,  as  if  conscious  of  the  authorship -of  the 
joke,  put  in  a longer  and  louder  “ Baa — a-a-a!  ! ! ” 

Tom,  wTith  all  his  devilment,  had  good  taste  enough  to 
feel  it  was  not  a scene  to  linger  on;  so  merely  giving  a 
merry  nod  to  each  of  the  ladies,  he  turned  about  his  horse 
as  fast  as  he  could,  and  rode  away  in  roars  of  laughter. 

When,  in  due  course  of  time,  the  widow  again  appeared 
in  company,  she  and  Tom  Durfy  could  never  meet  without 
smiling  at  each  other.-  W hat  a pleasant  influence  lies  in 
mutual  smiles!  We  love  the  lips  which  welcome  us  with- 
out words.  Such  sympathetic  influence  it  was  that  led  the 
widow  and  Tom  to  get  better  and  better  acquainted,  and 
like  each  other  more  and  more,  until  she  thought  him  the 

Eleasantest  fellow  in  the  county,  and  he  thought  her  the 
andsomest  woman: — besides,  she  had  a good  fortune. 

The  widow,  conscious  of  her  charms  and  her  money,  did 
not  let  Tom,  however,  lead  the  quietest  life  in  the  world. 
She  liked,  with  the  usual  propensity  of  her  sex,  occasion- 
ally to  vex  the  man  she  loved,  and  assert  her  sway  over  so 
good-looking  a fellow.  He,  in  his  turn,  played  off  the 
widow  very  well;  and  one  unfailing  source  of  mirthful  rec- 
onciliation on  Tom’s  part,  whenever  the  widow  was  angry, 
and  that  he  wanted  to  bring  her  back  to  good  humor,  was 
to  steal  behind  her  chair,  and  coaxingly  putting  his  head 
over  her  fair  shoulder,  to  pat  her  gently  on  her  peachy 
cheek,  and  cry  “Baa,” 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

Andy  was  in  sad  disgrace  for  so  many  days  with  his 
mother;  but,  like  all  mothers,  she  soon  forgave  the  blun- 
ders of  her  son— and  indeed  mothers  are  well  off  who  have 
not  more  than  blunders  to  forgive.  Andy  did  all  in  his 
power  to  make  himself  useful  at  home,  now  that  he  was 


108 


SANDY  ANDY. 


out  of  place  and  dependent  on  his  mother,  and  got  a day's 
work  here  and  there  where  he  could.  Fortunately  the 
season  afforded  him  more  employment  than  the  winter 
months  would  have  done.  But  the  farmers  soon  had  all 
their  crops  made  up,  and  when  Andy  could  find  no  work 
to  be  paid  for,  he  began  to  cut  the  “ scrap  o'  meadow,"  as 
he  called  it,  on  a small  field  of  his  mother's.  Indeed,  it 
was  but  a “ scrap;"  for  the  place  where  it  grew  was  one  of 
those  broken  bits  of  ground  so  common  in  the  vicinity  of 
mountain  ranges,  where  rocks,  protruding  through  the  soil, 
give  the  notion  of  a very  fine  crop  of  stones.  Now,  this 
locality  gave  to  Andy  the  opportunity  of  exercising  a bit 
of  his  characteristic  ingenuity;  for  when  the  hay  was  ready 
for  “ cocking,"  he  selected  a good  thumping  rock  as  the 
foundation  for  his  haystack,  and  the  superstructure  con- 
sequently cut  a more  respectable  figure  than  one  could  have 
anticipated  from  the  appearance  of  the  little  crop  as  it  lay 
on  the  ground;  and  as  no  vestige  of  the  rock  was  visible, 
the  widow,  when  she  came  out  to  see  the  work  completed, 
wondered  and  rejoiced  at  the  size  of  the  haystack,  and 
said,  “ God  bless  you,  Andy,  but  you're  the  natest  hand  for 
putting  up  a bit  o'  hay  I ever  seen;  throth  I didn't  think 
there  was  the  half  of  it  in  it!"  Little  did  the  widow  know 
that  the  cock  of  hay  was  as  great  a cheat  as  a bottle  of 
champagne — more  than  half  bottom.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  the  widow  to  admire  her  hay;  but  at  last  she  came  to 
sell  it,  and  such  sales  are  generally  effected  in  Ireland  by 
the  purchaser  buying  “in  the  lump,"  as  it  is  called,  that 
is,  calculating  the  value  of  the  hay  from  the  appearance 
of  the  stack  as  it  stands,  and  drawing  it  away  upon  his 
own  cars.  Now,  as  luck  would  have  it,  it  was  Andy's  early 
acquaintance,  Owny  na  Coppal,  bought  the  hay;  and  in 
consideration  of  the  lone  woman , gave  her  as  good  a price 
as  he  could  afford — for  Owny  was  an  honest,  open-hearted 
follow,  though  he  was  a horse-dealer;  so  he  paid  the  widow 
the  price  of  her  hay  on  the  spot,  and  said  he  would  draw 
it  away  at  his  convenience. 

In  a few  days  Owny's  cars  and  men  were  sent  for  this 
purpose;  but  when  they  came  to  take  the  haystack  to 
pieces,  the  solidity  of  its  center  astonished  them — and  in- 
stead of  the  cars  going  back  loaded,  two  had  their  journey 
for  nothing  and  wrent  home  empty.  Previously  to  his  men 
leaving  the  widow's  field,  they  spoke  to  her  on  the  subject. 


HANDY  ANDY.  109 

and  said,  “ Ton  my  conscience,  ma’am,  the  center  o'  your 
haystack  was  mighty  heavy.  " 

“ Oh,  indeed,  it's  powerful  hay!"  said  she. 

“ Maybe  so,"  said  they;  “ but  there's  not  much  nourish-* 
tnent  in  that  part  of  it." 

“ Not  finer  hay  in  Ireland!"  said  she. 

“ What's  of  it  ma'am,"  said  they.  “ Faix,  we  think  Mr. 
Doyle  will  be  talkin'  to  you  about  it."  And  they  were 
quite  right;  for  Owny  became  indignant  at  being  over* 
reached,  as  he  thought,  and  lost  no  time  in  going  to  the 
widow  to  teli  her  so.  When  he  arrived  at  her  cabin,  Andy 
happened  to  be  in  the  house;  and  when  the  widow  raised 
her  voice  through  the  storm  of  Owny's  rage,  in  protesta* 
tions  that  she  knew  nothing  about  it,  but  that  “ Andy,  th§ 
darlin',  put  the  cock  up  with  his  own  hands,"  then  did 
Owny's  passion  gather  strength. 

“ Oh!  it's  you,  you  vagabone,  is  it?"  said  he,  shaking  his 
whip  at  Andy,  with  whom  he  never  had  had  the  honor  of 
a conversation  since  the  memorable  day  when  his  horse  was 
nearly  killed.  “ So  this  is  more  o'  your  purty  work!  Bad 
cess  to  you!  wasn't  it  enough  for  you  to  nigh-hand  kill  one 
o'  my  horses,  without  plottin'  to  chate  the  rest  o'  them?" 

“ Is  it  me  chate  them?"  said  Andy.  “ Throth,  I wouldn't 
wrong  a dumb  baste  for  the  world." 

“ Not  he,  indeed,  Misther  Doyle!"  said  the  widow. 

“ Arrah,  woman,  don't  be  talkin'  your  balderdash  to 
me,"  said  Doyle;  “ sure  you  took  my  good  money  for  your 
hay!" 

“ And  sure  I gave  all  I had  to  you — what  more  could  I 
do?" 

“ Tare  an'  ounty,  woman!  who  ever  heerd  of  sich  a thing 
as  coverin'  up  a rock  wid  hay,  and  sellin'  it  as  the  rale 
thing?" 

“ 'Twas  Andy  done  it,  Mr.  Doyle;  hand,  act,  or  part  I 
hadn't  in  it." 

“ Why,  then,  arn't  you  ashamed  o'  yourself?"  said  Owny 
Doyle,  addressing  Andy. 

“ Why  should  I be  ashamed?"  said  Andy. 

“For  chatin' — that's  the  word,  since  you  provoke  me." 

“ What  I done  is  not  chatin',"  said  Andy.  “ I had  a 
blessed  example  for  it." 

“Oh!  do  you  hear  this?" shouted  Owny,  nearly pro~oked 
to  take  the  worth  of  his  money  out  of  Andy's  ribs. 


lit) 


HAHBY  ANDY. 


“ Yes,  I say  a blessed  example,”  said  Andy.  “ Sure, 
didn’t  the  blessed  Saint  Peter  build  his  church  upon  a rock? 
And  why  shouldn’t  I build  my  cock  o’  hay  on  a rock?” 
Owny,  with  all  his  rage,  could  not  help  laughing  at  the 
ridiculous  conceit.  “By  this  and  that,  Andy,”  said  he, 
“ you’re  always  sayin’  or  doin’  the  quarest  things  in  the 
'counthry,  bad  cess  to  you!”  So  he  laid  his  whip  upon  his 
little  hack  instead  of  Andy,  and  galloped  off. 

Andy  went  over  the  next  day  to  the  neighboring  town, 
where  Owny  Doyle  kept  a little  inn  and  a couple  of  post- 
chaises  (such  as  they  were),  and  expressed  much  sorrow 
that  Owny  had  been  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  the  hay; 
“but  I’ll  pay  you  the  differ  out  o’ my  wages,  Misther  Doyle 
1 — in  throth  I will — that  is,  whenever  I have  any  wages  to 
get:  for  the  Squire  turned  me  off,  you  see,  and  I’m  out  of 
place  at  this  present.” 

“ Oh,  never  mind  it,”  said  Owny.  “ Sure,  it  was  the 
Widow  woman  got  the  money,  and  I don’t  begrudge  it;  and 
now  that  it’s  all  past  and  gene,  I forgive  you.  But  tell 
hie,  Andy,  what  put  such  a quare  thing  into  your  head?” 
“Why,  you  see,”  said  Andy,  “I  didn’t  like  the  poor 
mother’s  pride  should  be  let  down  in  the  eyes  o’  the  neigh- 
bors; and  so  I m ade  the  weeshy  bit  o’ hay  look  as  dacentas 
I could — but,  at  the  same  time,  I wouldn’t  chate  any  one 
for  the  world,  Misther  Doyle.” 

“Throth,  I b’lieve  you  wouldn’t,  Andy;  but,  ’pon  my 
sowl,  the  next  time  I go  buy  hay.  I’ll  take  care  that  Saint 
Petlier  hasn’t  any  hand  in  it.  ” 

Owny  turned  on  his  heel,  and  was  walking  away  with 
that  air  of  satisfaction  which  men  so  commonly  assume 
after  fancying  they  have  said  a good  thing,  when  Andy  in- 
terrupted his  retreat  by  an  inter jectional  “ Misther  Doyle?” 
“Well,”  said  Owny,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

“I  was  thinkin’,  sir,”  said  Andy. 

“ For  the  first  time  in  your  life,  I b’lieve,”  said  Owny; 
“ and  what  was  it  you  wor  thinkin’?” 

“ I was  thinkin’  o’  drivin’  a chay,  sir.” 

“ And  what’s  that  to  me?”  said  Owny. 

“ Sure  I might  dhrive  one  o’  your  chaises.” 

“ And  kill  more  o’  my  horses,  Andy— eh?  No,  no,  faix, 
I’m  afeer’d  o’  you,  Andy.” 

“Not  a boy  in  Ireland  knows  dhrivin’ betther  nor  me, 
any  way/’  said  Andy. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Ill 


“Faix,  it’s  any  way  and  every  way  bnt  the  way  you 
ought  you’d  dhrive,  sure  enough,  I b’lieve;  but,  at  all 
events,  I don’t  want  a postboy,  Andy — I have  Micky  Doolan 
and  his  brother  Pether,  and  them’s  enough  for  me.” 

“ May  be  you’d  be  wantin’  a helper  in  the  stable,  Misther 
Doyle?” 

“ No,  Andy;  but  the  first  time  I want  to  make  hay  to 
advantage.  I’ll  send  for  you,”  said  Owny,  laughing,  as  he 
entered  his  house,  aud  nodding  to  Andy,  who  returned  a 
capacious  grin  to  Owny’s  shrewd  smile,  like  the  exaggerat- 
ed reflection  of  a concave  mirror.  But  the  grin  soon  sub- 
sided, for  men  seldom  prolong  the  laugh  that  is  raised  at 
their  own  expense;  and  the  corners  of  Andy’s  mouth  turned 
down  as  his  hand  turned  up  to  the  back  of  his  head,  which 
he  rubbed,  as  he  sauntered  down  the  street  from  Owny 
Doyle’s. 

It  was  some  miles  to  Andy’s  home,  and  night  overtook 
him  on  the  way.  As  he  trudged  along  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  he  was  looking  up  at  a waning  moon  and  some 
few  stars  twinkling  through  the  gloom,  absorbed  in  many 
sublime  thoughts  as  to  their  existence,  and  wondering  what 
they  were  made  of;  when  his  cogitations  were  cut  short  by 
tumbling  over  something  which  lay  in  the  middle  of  the 
highway;  and  on  scrambling  to  his  legs  again,  and  seeking 
to  investigate  the  cause  of  his  fall  he  was  rather  surprised 
to  find  a man  lying  in  such  a state  of  insensibility  that  all 
Andy’s  efforts  could  not  rouse  him.  While  standing  over 
him,  undecided  as  to  what  he  should  do,  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching wheels,  and  the  rapid  steps  of  galloping  horses, 
attracted  his  attention;  and  it  became  evident  that  unless 
the  chaise  and  pair  which  he  now  saw  in  advance  were 
brought  to  pull  up,  the  cares  of  the  man  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  would  be  very  soon  over.  Andy  shouted  lustily, 
but  to  his  every  “ Halloo  there!”  the  crack  of  the  whip  re- 
plied, and  accelerated  speed  instead  of  a halt  was  the  con- 
sequence; at  last,  in  desperation,  Andy  planted  himself  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  and  with  outspread  arms  before  the 
horses,  succeeded  in  arresting  their  progress,  while  he 
shouted  “ Stop,”  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

A pistol-shot  from  the  chaise  was  the  consequence  of 
Andy’s  summons,  for  a certain  Mr.  Furlong,  a foppish 
young  gentleman,  traveling  from  the  castle  of  Dublin, 
never  dreamed  that  a humane  purpose  could  produce  the 


112 


HANDY  ANDY. 


cry  of  “ Stop,"  on  a horrid  Irish  road;  and  as  he  was 
reared  in  the  ridiculous  belief  that  every  man  ran  a great 
risk  of  his  life  who  ventured  outside  the  city  of  Dublin,  he 
traveled  with  a brace  of  loaded  pistols  beside  him;  and  as 
he  had  been  anticipating  murder  and  robbery  ever  since 
night-fall,  he  did  not  wait  the  demand  for  his  “ money  or  his 
life  ” to  defend  both,  but  fired  away  the  instant  he  heard 
the  word  “ Stop!”  and  fortunate  it  was  for  Andy  that  the 
traveler's  hurry  impaired  his  aim.  Before  he  could  dis- 
charge a second  pistol,  Andy  had  screened  himself  under 
the  horses'  heads;  and  recognizing  in  the  postilion  his 
friend  Micky  Doolin,  he  shouted  out  “ Micky,  jewel,  don't 
let  them  be  shootin'  me!” 

Now  Micky's  cares  were  quite  enough  engaged  on  his 
own  account;  for  the  first  pistol-shot  made  the  horses 
plunge  violently,  and  the  second  time  Furlong  blazed  away 
set  the  saddle-horse  kicking  at  such  a rate,  that  all  Micky's 
horsemanship  was  required  to  preserve  his  seat;  added  to 
which  the  dread  of  being  shot  came  over  him,  and  he 
crouched  low  on  the  gray's  neck,  holding  fast  by  the  mane, 
and  shouting  for  mercy  as  well  as  Andy,  who  still  kept 
roaring  to  Mick,  “not  to  let  them  be  shootin'  him,”  while 
he  held  his  hat  above  him,  in  the  fashion  of  a shield,  as  if 
that  would  have  proved  any  protection  against  a bullet. 
“ Who  are  you  at  all?”  said  Mick. 

“ Andy  Rooney,  sure.” 

“ And  what  do  you  want?” 

“To  save  the  man's  life.” 

The  last  words  only  caught  the  ear  of  the  frightened 
Furlong;  and  as  the  phrase  “his  life ” seemed  a personal 
threat  to  himself,  he  swore  a trembling  oath  at  the  postil- 
ion that  he  would  shoot  him  if  he  did  not  dtvive  on,  for  he 
abjured  the  use  of  that  rough  letter,  R,  which  the  Irish  so 
much  rejoice  in.  “ Dwive  on,  you  wascal,  dwive  on!”  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Furlong. 

“There's  no  fear  o' you,  sir,”  said  Micky,  “it's  a friend 
o' my  own.” 

Mr.  Furlong  was  not  quite  satisfied  that  he  was  therefore 
the  safer. 

“And  what  is  it  all,  Andy?”  continued  Mick. 

“ I tell  you  there's  a man  lying  dead  in  the  road  here, 
and  sure  you'll  kill  him,  if, you  dhrive  over  him." 


HANDY  ANDY. 


113 

“ How  could  I kill  him  any  more  than  he  is  kilt/’  says 
Click,  “"if  he’s  dead  already?” 

“Well,  no  matther  for  that,”  says  Andy.  “Light  off 
your  horse,  will  you,  and  help  me  to  rise  him?” 

Mick  dismounted,  and  assisted  Andy  in  lifting  the  pros- 
trate man  from  the  center  of  the  road  to  the  slope  of  turf 
Which  bordered  its  side.  They  judged  he  was  not  dead, 
however,  from  the  warmth  of  the  body;  but  that  he  should 
still  sleep  seemed  astonishing,  considering  the  quantity  of 
shaking  and  kicking  they  gave  him. 

“I  bTieve  it’s  drunk  he  is,”  said  Mick. 

“ He  gave  a grunt  that  time,”  said  Andy;  “ shake  him 
again,  and  he’ll  spake.” 

To  a fresh  shaking  the  drunken  man  at  last  gave  some 
tokens  of  returning  consciousness,  by  making  several  wind- 
ing blows  at  his  benefactors,  and  uttering  some  half -intelli- 
gent maledictions. 

“ Bad  luck  to  you,  do  you  know  where  you  are?”  said 
Mick. 

“Well!”  was  the  drunken  ejaculation. 

“By  this  and  that,  it’s  my  brother  Pether,”  said  Mick. 
“ We  wondhered  what  had  kept  him  so  late  with  the  re- 
turn shay,  and  this  is  the  way  it  is.  He  tumbled  off  his 
horses,  dhrunk;  and  where’s  the  shay,  I wondher?  Oh, 
murdher!  what  will  Misther  Doyle  say?” 

“What’s  the  weason  you  don’t  dwive  on?”  said  Mr.  Fm> 
iong,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  chaise. 

“ It’s  one  on  the  road  here,  your  honor,  almost  killed. 
“Was  it  wobbers?”  asked  Mr.  Furlong. 

“ Maybe  you’d  take  him  into  the  shay  wid  you,  sir?” 

“ What  a wequest! — dwive  on,  sir!” 

“ Sure  I can’t  lave  my  brother  on  the  road,  sir.” 

“ Your  bwother ! — and  you  pwesume  to  put  your  bwother 
to  wide  with  me?  You’ll  put  me  in  the  debdest  wage  if 
you  don’t  dwive  on.” 

“ Faith,  then,  I won’t  dhrive  on  and  lave  my  brother 
here  on  the  road.” 

“ You  rascally  wappawee!”  exclaimed  Furlong. 

“ See,  Andy,”  said  Micky  Doolan;  “ will  you  get  up  and 
dhrive  him,  while  I stay  with  Pether?” 

“ To  be  sure  I will,”  said  Andy;  “ where  is  he  goin’?” 

“ To  the  Squire’s,”  said  Mick;  “ and  when  you  lave  him 
there,  make  haste  back,  and  111  dhrive  Pether  home*” 


114 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Andy  mounted  into  Mick's  saddle;  and  although  the 
traveler  “pwotested'  against  it,  and  threatened  “ pwo- 
ceedings  " and  “ magistrates,"  Mick  was  unmoved  in  his 
brotherly  love.  As  a last  remonstrance,  Furlong  ex- 
claimed, “And  pwehaps  this  fellow  can't  wide,  and  don't 
know  the  woad." 

“ Is  it  not  know  the  road  to  the  Squire's? — wow!  wow!" 
said  Andy.  “ It's  I that'll  rattle  you  there  in  no  time, 
your  honor." 

“Well,  wattle  away  then!"  said  the  enraged  traveler,  as 
he  threw  himself  back  in  the  chaise,  cursing  all  the  postih 
lions  in  Ireland. 

Now,  it  was  to  Squire  O'Grady's  that  Mr.  Furlong  want- 
ed to  go;  but  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  the  name  of 
O'Grady  never  once  was  mentioned ; and  with  the  title  of 
“ Squire,"  Andy  never  associated  another  idea  than  that  of 
his  late  master,  Mr.  Egan. 

Mr.  Furlong,  it  has  been  stated,  was  an  official  of  Dub- 
lin Castle,  and  had  been  dispatched  on  electioneering  busi- 
ness to  the  country.  He  was  related  to  a gentleman  of  the 
same  name  who  held  a lucrative  post  under  government, 
and  was  well  known  as  an  active  agent  in  all  affairs  requir- 
ing what  in  Ireland  was  called  “ Castle  influence;"  and  this, 
his  relative,  was  now  dispatched,  for  the  first  time,  on  a 
similar  employment.  By  the  way,  while  his  name  is  before 
one,  a little  anecdote  may  be  appropriately  introduced, 
illustrative  of  the  wild  waggery  prevailing  in  the  streets  of 
Dublin  in  those  days. 

Those  days  were  the  good  old  days  of  true  virtue!  When 
a bishop  who  had  daughters  to  marry,  would  advance  a de- 
serving young  curate  to  a good  living,  and,  not  content 
with  that  manifestation  of  his  regard,  would  give  him  one 
of  his  own  children  for  a wife!  Those  were  the  days  when, 
the  country  being  in  danger,  fathers  were  willing  to  sacri- 
fice, not  only  their  sons,  but  their  daughters  on  the  allar 
of  patriotism!  Do  you  doubt  it,  unbelieving  and  selfish 
creatures  of  these  degenerate  times?  Listen!  A certain 
father  waited  upon  the  Irish  Secretary,  one  fine  morning, 
and  in  that  peculiar  strain  which  secretaries  of  state  must 
be  pretty  well  used  to,  descanted  at  some  length  on  the  de- 
votion he  had  always  shown  to  the  government,  and  yet 
they  had  given  him  no  proof  of  their  confidence , The  See- 


HASThY  astdy.  115 

retary  declared  they  had  the  highest  sense  of  his  merits, 
and  that  they  had  given  him  their  entire  confidence. 

“ But  you  have  given  me  nothing  else,  my  lord,”  was  the 

answer. 

“My  dear  sir,  of  late  we  have  not  had  any  proof  of  suffi- 
cient weight  in  our  gift  to  convince  you.” 

“ Oh,  I beg  your  pardon,  my  lord:  there's  a majority  of 
the dragoons  vacant.” 

“ Very  true,  my  dear  sir;  and  if  you  had  a child  to  de- 
vote to  the  service  of  your  country,  no  one  should  have  the 
majority  sooner.” 

“ Thank  you,  my  lord,”  said  the  worthy  man  with  a low 
bow;  “ then  I have  a child.” 

“ Bless  me,  sir!  I never  heard  you  had  a son.” 

“ No,  my  lord,  but  I have  a daughter.” 

“ A daughter!”  said  my  Lord  Secretary,  with  a look  of 
surprise;  “ but  you  forget,  sir — this  is  a regiment — a dra- 
goon regiment.” 

“ Oh,  she  rides  elegant,”  said  her  father. 

“ But,  my  dear  sir — a woman!” 

“ Why  shouldn't  a woman  do  her  duty,  my  lord,  as  well 
as  a man,  when  the  country  is  in  danger?  I'm  ready  to 
sacrifice  my  daughter,”  said  the  heroic  man,  with  an  air 
worthy  of  Yirginius. 

“My  dear  sir,  this  is  really  impossible;  you  knoio  it's 
impossible.” 

“ I know  no  such  thing,  my  lord.  But  I'll  tell  you  what 
I know;  there's  a bill  coming  on  next  week — and  there  are 
ten  friends  of  mine  who  have  not  made  up  their  minds  yet.” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  said  the  Lord  Secretary,  squeezing  his 
hand  with  vehement  friendship,  “why  place  us  in  this 
dreadful  difficulty?  It  would  be  impossible  even  to  draw 
up  the  commission;  fancy  * Major  Maria  f or  * Major  Mar- 
gery 7” 

“ Oh,  my  lord,”  said  the  father  quickly,  “ I have  fancied 
all  that  long  ago,  and  got  a cure  ready  for  it.  My  wife  not 
having  been  blessed  with  boys,  we  thought  it  wise  to  make 
the  girls  ready  for  any  chance  that  might  turn  up,  and  so 
we  christened  the  eldest  George,  the  second  Jack,  and  the 
third  Tom;  which  enables  us  to  call  them  Georgina,  Jac- 
queline, and  Thomasine,  in  company,  while  the  secret  of 
their  real  names  rests  between  ourselves  and  the  parish 
register.  Now,  my  lord,  what  do  you  say?  I have  George, 


116 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Jack,  and  Tom — think  of  your  bill”  The  argument  was 
conclusive,  and  the  patriotic  man  got  the  majority  of  a 
cavalry  corps,  with  perpetual  leave  of  absence,  for  his 
daughter  Jack,  who  would  much  rather  have  joined  the 
regiment. 

Such  were  the  days  in  which  our  Furlong  flourished;  and 
in  such  days  it  will  not  be  wondered  at  that  a Secretary, 
v/hen  he  had  no  place  to  give  away,  invented  one.  The  old, 
saying  has  it,  that  “ Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention;” 
but  an  Irish  Secretary  can  beat  necessity  hollow.  For  ex- 
ample— 

A commission  was  issued,  with  a handsome  salary  to 
the  commissioner,  to  make  a measurement  through  all  the 
streets  of  Dublin,  ascertaining  the  exact  distances  from  the 
Castle,  from  a furlong  upward;  and  for  many  a year  did 
the  commission  work,  inserting  handsome  stone  slabs  into 
the  walls  of  most  ignorant  houses,  till  then  unconscious  of 
their  precise  proximity  or  remoteness  from  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment. Ever  after  that,  if  you  saw  some  portly  builds 
ing,  blushing  in  the  pride  of  red  brick  and  perfumed  with 
fresh  paint,  and  saw  the  tablet  recording  the  interesting 
fact  thus — 


FROM  THE  CASTLE, 
ONE  FURLONG. 


Fancy  might  suggest  that  the  house  rejoiced,  as  it  were,  in 
an  honored  position,  and  did 

— “ look  so  fine,  and  smell  so  sweet,” 

because  it  was  under  the  nose  of  viceroyalty,  while  the  sub? 
urbs  revealed  poor  tatterdemalion  tenements,  dropping 
their  slates  like  tears,  and  uttering  their  hollow  sighs 
through  empty  casements,  merely  because  they  were  “ one 
mile  two  furlongs  from  the  Castle.”  But  the  new  stone 
tablet  which  told  you  so  seemed  to  mock  their  misery,  and 
looked  like  a fresh  stab  into  their  poor  old  sides;  as  if  the 
rapier  of  a king  had  killed  a beggar. 

This  very  original  measure  of  measurement  was  provo- 
cative of  ridicule  or  indignation,  as  the  impatient  might 


HANDY  ANDY. 


11? 


happen  to  be  infected;  but  while  the  affair  was  in  full  blow, 
Mr.  Furlong,  who  was  the  commissioner,  while  walking  iu 
Sackville  Street  one  day,  had  a goodly  sheet  of  paper 
pinned  to  his  back  by  some — 

— “ sweet  Roman  hand/' 

bearing,  in  large  letters  the  inversion  of  one  of  his  own 
tablets. 


ONE  FURLONG 
FROM  THE  CASTLE. 


and  as  he  swaggered  along  in  conscious  dignity,  he  worn 
dered  at  the  shouts  of  laughter  ringing  behind  him,  and 
turned  round  occasionally  to  see  the  cause;  but  ever  as  he 
turned,  faces  were  screwed  up  into  seriousness,  while  thq 
laughter  rang  again  in  his  rear.  Furlong  was  bewildered, 
and  much  as  he  was  used  to  the  mirthfulness  of  an  Irish 
populace,  he  certainly  did  wonder  what  fiend  of  fun  pos- 
sessed them  that  day,  until  the  hall  porter  of  the  secretary’s 
office  solved  the  enigma  by  respectfully  asking  would  he 
not  take  the  placard  from  his  back  before  he  presented 
himself.  The  Mister  Furlong  who  is  engaged  in  our  story 
Was  the  nephew  of  the  man  of  measurement  memory;  and 
his  mother,  a vulgar  woman,  sent  her  son  to  England  to 
be  educated,  that  he  might  “pick  up  the  ax’nt;  ’twas  so 
jinteel,  the  Inglish  ax’nt!”  And,  accordingly,  the  youth 
endeavored  all  he  could  to  become  ww-Irish  in  everything, 
and  was  taught  to  believe  that  all  the  virtue  and  wisdom 
in  Ireland  was  vested  in  the  Castle  and  hangers-on  thereof, 
and  that  the  mere  people  were  worse  than  savages. 

With  such  feelings  it  was  this  English  Irishman,  em- 
ployed to  open  negotiations  between  the  government  and 
Squire  O’Grady,  visited  the  wilds  of  Ireland;  and  the  cir- 
cumstances attendant  on  the  stopping  of  the  chaise  afford- 
ed the  peculiar  genius  of  Handy  Andy  an  opportunity  of 
making  a glorious  confusion,  by  driving  the  political  enemy 
of  the  sitting  member  into  his  house,  where,  by  a curious 
coincidence,  a strange  gentleman  was  expected  every  day 
on  a short  visit.  After  Andy  had  driven  some  time,  ho 


118 


SAKDY  AtfDY. 


turned  round  and  spoke  to  Mr.  Furlong,  through  the  pane 
of  glass  with  which  the  front  window-frame  of  the  chaise 
Was  not  furnished. 

“Faix,  you  wor  nigh  shootin’  me,  your  honor,”  said 
Andy. 

“ I should  not  wepwoach  myself,  if  I had,”  said  Mr. 
Furlong,  “ when  you  quied  stop  on  the  woad:  wobbers  al- 
ways qui  stop,  and  I took  you  for  a wobber.” 

“Faix,  the  robbers  here,  your  honor,  never  axes  you  to 
stop  at  all,  but  they  stop  you  without  axin’,  or  by  your 
lave,  or  wid  your  lave.  Sure,  I was  only  afeerd  you’d 
dhrive  over  the  man  in  the  road.  ” 

“ What  was  that  man  in  the  woad  doing?” 

“ Nothin’  at  all,  faith,  for  he  wasn’t  able;  he  was  dhrunk, 
sir.” 

“ The  postilion  said  he  was  his  bwother.” 

“ Yis,  your  honor,  and  he’s  a postilion  himself — only  he 
lost  his  horses  and  the  shay — he  got  dhrunk,  and  fell  off.  ” 
“ Those  wascally  postilions  often  get  dwunk,  I suppose?” 
“ Oh,  common  enough,  sir,  particular  now  about  the 
’lection  time;  for  the  gentlemin  is  dhrivin’  over  the  coun- 
try like  mad,  right  and  left,  and  gives  the  boys  money  to 
dhrink  their  health,  till  they  are  killed  a most  with  the 
falls  they  get.  ” 

“ Then  postilions  often  fall  on  the  woads  here?” 
“Throth,  the  roads  is  covered  with  them  sometimes. 
When  the  ’lections  comes  an.  ” 

“ What  howwid  immowality!  I hope  you’re  not  dwunk?” 
“Faix,  I wish  I was!”  said  Andy.  “It’s  a great  while 
since  I had  a dhrop;  but  it  won’t  be  long  so,  when  your 
honor  gives  me  something  to  dhrink  your  health.” 

“Well,  don’t  talk,  but  dwive  on.” 

All  Andy’s  further  endeavors  to  get  “his  honor”  into 
conversation  were  unavailing;  so  he  whipped  on  in  silence 
till  his  arrival  at  the  gate-house  of  Merryvale  demanded  his 
call  for  entrance. 

“ What  are  you  shouting  there  for?”  said  the  traveler; 
“ cawn’t  you  wing?” 

“ Oh,  they  understand  the  shilloo  as  well,  sir;”  and  in 
confirmation  of  Andy’s  assurance,  the  bars  of  the  entrance 
gates  were  withdrawn,  and  the  post-chaise  rattled  up  the 
avenue  to  the  house. 

Andy  alighted,  and  gave  a thundering  tantara-ra  at  the 


HAHDY  AKBY.  HO 

door.  The  servant  who  opened  it  was  surprised  at  the 
sight  of  Andy,  and  could  not  repress  a shout  of  wonder. 
Here  Dick  Dawson  came  into  the  hall,  and  seeing  Andy  at 
the  door,  gave  a loud  halloo,  and  clapped  his  hands  in 
delight — for  he  had  not  seen  him  since  the  day  of  the 
chase. 

“ An*  is  it  there  you  are  again,  you  unlucky  vagabone?” 
said  Dick;  “ and  what  brings  you  here?” 

“I  come  with  a jintleman  to  the  masther,  Misther 
Dick.” 

“ Oh,  it's  the  visitor,  I suppose,”  said  Dick,  as  he  him- 
self went  out,  with  that  unceremonious  readiness  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  wild  fellow  he  was,  to  open  the  door  of  the 
chaise  for  his  brother-in-law's  guest. 

“ You're  welcome,”  said  Dick;  “ come,  step  in — the  serv- 
ants will  look  to  your  luggage.  James,  get  in  Mr.  , I 

beg  your  pardon,  but  'pon  my  soul,  I forget  your  name, 
though  Moriarty  told  me.” 

“ Mr.  Furlong,”  gently  uttered  the  youth. 

“ Get  in  the  luggage,  James.  Come,  sir,  walk  into  the 
dinner-room:  we  haven't  finished  our  wine  yet.”  With 
these  words  Dick  ushered  in  Furlong  to  the  apartment 
Where  Squire  Egan  sat,  who  rose  as  they  entered.  “ Mr. 
Furlong,  Ned,”  said  Dick. 

“ Happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Furlong,”  said  the  hearty  Squire, 
who  shook  Furlong's  hand  in  what  Furlong  considered  a 
most  savage  manner.  “ You  seem  fatigued?” 

“ Vewy,”  was  the  languid  reply  of  the  traveler,  as  he 
threw  himself  into  a chair.  - 

“Ring  the  bell  for  more  claret,  Dick,”  said  Squire 
Egan: 

“ I neveh  dwink.” 

Dick  and  the  Squire  both  looked  at  him  with  amazement, 
for  in  the  friend  of  Moriarty  they  expected  to  find  a hearty 
fellow. 

“ A cool  bottle  wouldn't  do  a child  any  harm,”  said  the 
Squire.  “Ring,  Dick.  And  now,  Mr.  Furlong,  tell  ua 
how  you  like  the  country.” 

“Not  much,  I pwotest.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  the  people?” 

“Oh,  I don't  know: — you'll  pawdon  me,  but — a— in 
short  there  are  so  many  wags.” 


120 


EAtfDY  AKDY. 


“Oh,  there  are  wags  enough,  I grant;  not  funnier  devils 
in  the  world.  ” 

“But  I mean  wags — tatters,  I mean.” 

“ Oh,  rags.  Oh,  yes — why,  indeed,  they've  not  much 
clothes  to  spare.” 

“And  yet  these  wretches  are  fweeholders,  I’m  told.” 
“Ay,  and  stout  voters,  too.” 

“ Well,  that’s  all  we  wequire.  By  the  bye,  how  goes  on 
the  canvass.  Squire?” 

“Famously.” 

“ Oh,  wait  till  I explain  to  you  our  plan  of  opewations 
from  head-qwaters.  You’ll  see  how  famously  we  shall  wal- 
ly  at  the  hustings.  These  Itvish  have  no  idea  of  tactics; 
we’ll  intwoduce  the  English  mode — take  them  by  sup  wise.' 
"We  must  unseat  him.” 

“Unseat  who?”  said  the  Squire. 

“That — a — Egan,  I think  you  call  him.” 

The  Squire  opened  his  eyes;  but  Dick,  with  the  ready 
devilment  that  was  always  about  him,  saw  how  the  land 
lay  in  an  instant,  and  making  a signal  to  his  brother-im 
law,  chimed  in  with  an  immediate  assent  to  Furlong’s  as- 
sertion, and  swore  that  Egan  would  be  unseated  to  a cer- 
tainty.  “Come,  sir,”  added  Dick,  “fill  one  bumper  at 
least  to  a toast  I propose.  Here’s  ‘ Confusion  to  Egan,  and 
success  to  O’Grady.’” 

“ Success  to  O’Gwady,”  faintly  echoed  Furlong,  as  he 
sipped  his  claret.  “ These  Iwish  are  so  wild — so  unculti- 
vated,” continued  he;  “you’ll  see  how  I’ll  supwise  then* 
with  some  of  my  plans.” 

“Oh,  they’re  poor  ignorant  brutes,”  said  Dick,  “that 
know  nothing:  a man  of  the  world  like  you  would  buy  and 
sell  them.” 

“You  see,  they’ve  no  finesse:  they  have  a certain  de- 
gwee  of  weadiness,  but  no  depth — no  weal  finesse.” 

“ Not  as  much  as  would-physic  a snipe,”  said  Dick,  who 
swallowed  a glass  of  claret  to  conceal  a smile. 

“ What’s  that  you  say  about  snipes  and  physic?”  said 
Furlong;  “what  queer  things  you  Iwish  do  say.” 

“Oh,  we’ve  plenty  o’ queer  fellows  here,”  said  Dick; 
“but  you  are  not  taking  your  claret.” 

“ The  twuth  is,  I am  fatigued — vewy — and  if  you’d  al- 
low me,  Mr.  O’Gwady,  I should  like  to  go  to  my  woonn 
We’U  talk  over  business  to-mowwow.” 


RANDY  ANDY. 


m 


“ Certainly,”  said  the  Squire,  who  was  glad  to  get  rid  of 
him,  for  the  scene  was  becoming  too  much  for  his  gravity. 
So  Dick  Dawson  lighted  Furlong  to  his  room,  and  after 
heaping  civilities  upon  him,  left  him  to  sleep  in  the  camp 
of  his  enemies,  and  then  returned  to  the  dining-room,  to 
enjoy  with  the  Squire  the  laugh  they  were  so  long  obliged 
to  repress,  and  to  drink  another  bottle  of  claret  on  the 
strength  of  the  joke. 

“ What  shall  we  do  with  him,  Dick  ?”  said  the  Squire. 

“Pump  him  as  dry  as  a lime-kiln,”  said  Dick,  “and 
then  send  him  off  to  O’Grady — alPs  fair  in  war.” 

“To  be  sure,”  said  the  Squire.  “Unseat  me,  indeed! 
He  was  near  it,  sure  enough,  for  I thought  Fd  have  dropped 
off  my  chair  with  surprise  when  he  said  it.” 

“ And  the  conceit  and  impudence  of  the  fellow,”  said 
Dick.  “ The  ignorant  Iwish — nothing  will  serve  him  but 
abusing  his  own  countrymen ! ‘The  ignorant  Irish !’ — 
oh,  is  that  all  you  learn  in  Oxford,  my  boy? — just  wait, 
my  buck — if  I don’t  astonish  your  weak  mind,  it’s  no 
matter!” 

“ Faith,  he  has  brought  his  pigs  to  a pretty  market 
here,”  said  the  Squire;  “but  how  did  he  come  here?  how 
was  the  mistake  made?” 

“The  way  every  mistake  in  the  country  is  made,”  said 
Dick.  “ Handy  Andy  drove  him  here.” 

“ More  power  to  you,  Andy,”  said  the  Squire.  “ Come, 
Dick,  we’ll  drink  Andy’s  health.  This  is  a mistake  on 
the  right  side.” 

And  Andy’s  health  was  drunk,  as  well  as  several  other 
healths.  In  short,  the  Squire  and  Dick  the  Devil  were  in 
high  glee — the  dining-room  rang  with  laughter  to  a late 
hour;  and  the  next  morning  a great  many  empty  claret 
bottles  were  on  the  table,  and  a few  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Notwithstanding  the  deep  potations  of  the  Squire  and 
Dick  Dawson  the  night  before,  both  were  too  much  excited 
by  the  arrival  of  Furlong  to  permit  their  being  laggards  in 
the  morning;  they  were  up  and  in  consultation  at  an  early 
hour,  foj  the  purpose  of  carrying  on  prosperously  the 
mystification  so  well  begun  on  the  Castle  agent. 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Now , first  of  all,  Dick,"  said  the  Squire,  “ is  it  fair, 
do  you  think?" 

“ Fair!"  said  Dick,  opening  his  eyes  in  astonishment. 
“ Why,  who  ever  heard  of  any  one  questioning  anything 
being  fair  in  love  or  war,  or  electioneering?  To  be  sure, 
it's  fair — and  more  particularly  when  the  conceited  cox- 
comb has  been  telling  us  how  he'll  astonish  with  his 
plans  the  poor  ignorant  Irish,  whom  he  holds  in  such  con- 
tempt. Now,  let  me  alone,  and  IT1  get  all  his  plans  out 
of  him,  turn  him  inside  out  like  a glove,  pump  him  as  dry 
as  a pond  in  the  summer,  squeeze  him  like  a lemon — and 
let  him  see  whether  the  poor  ignorant  Iwish,  as  he  softly 
calls  us,  are  not  an  overmatch  for  him  at  the  finesse  upon 
which  he  seems  so  much  to  pride  himself." 

“Egad!  I believe  you're  right,  Dick,"  said  the  Squire, 
whose  qualms  were  quite  overcome  by  the  argument  last 
advanced;  for  if  one  thing  more  than  another  provoked 
him,  it  was  the  impertinent  self-conceit  of  presuming  and 
shallow  strangers,  who  fancied  their  hackneyed  and  cut- 
and-dry  knowledge  of  the  commonplaces  of  the  world  gave 
them  a mental  elevation  above  an  intelligent  people  of 
primitive  habits,  whose  simplicity  of  life  is  so  often  set 
down  to  stupidity,  whose  contentment  under  privation  is 
frequently  attributed  to  laziness,  and  whose  poverty  is  con- 
stantly coupled  with  the  epithet  “ignorant."  “A  poor,  ig- 
norant creature,"  indeed,  is  a common  term  of  reproach,  as 
if  poverty  and  ignorance  must  be  inseparable.  If  a list  could 
be  obtained  of  the  rich  ignorant  people,  it  would  be  no  flat- 
tering document  to  stick  on  the  door  of  the  temple  of  Mam- 
mon. 

“Well,  Ned,"  said  Dick,  “as  you  agree  to  do  the  En- 
glishman, Murphy  will  be  a grand  help  to  us;  it  is  the  very 
thing  he  will  have  his  heart  in.  Murtough  will  be  worth 
his  weight  in  gold  to  us;  I will  ride  over  to  him  and 
bring  him  back  with  me  to  spend  the  day  here;  and  you, 
in  the  meantime,  can  put  every  one  about  the  house  on 
their  guard  not  to  spoil  the  fun  by  letting  the  cat  out  of 
the  bag  too  soon;  we'll  shake  her  ourselves  in  good  time, 
and  maybe  we  won't  have  no  fun  in  the  hunt!" 

“ You're  right,  Dick.  Murphy  is  the  very  man  for  our 
money.  Do  you  be  off  for  him,  and  I will  take  care  that 
all  shall  be  right  at  home  here." 

In  ten  minutes  more  Dick  was  in  the  saddle,  and  riding 


iiAHDY  ANJDY. 


m 


hard  for  Murtough  Murphy's.  A good  horse  and  a sharp  pair 
of  spurs  were  not  long  in  placing  him  vis-a-vis  with  the 
merry  attorney,,  whom  he  found  in  his  stable-yard  up  to 
his  eyes  in  business  with  some  ragged  country  fellows, 
the  majority  of  whom  were  loud  in  vociferating  their 
praises  of  certain  dogs;  while  Murtough  drew  from  one 
of  them,  from  time  to  time,  a solemn  assurance,  given 
with  many  significant  shakes  of  the  head,  and  uplifting  of 
hands  and  eyes,  “that  was  the  finest  badger  in  the  world !” 
Murtough  turned  his  head  on  hearing  the  rattle  of  the 
horse/s  feet,  as  Dick  the  Devil  dashed  into  the  stable-yard, 
and  with  a view-halloo  welcomed  him. 

“ You're  just  in  time,  Dick.  By  the  powers!  well  have 
the  finest  day's  sport  you've  seen  for  some  time.” 

“ I think  we  shall,”  said  Dick,  “ if  you  ccme  with  me.” 
“ No;  but  you  come  with  me,”  said  Murtough.  “ The 
grandest  badger-fight,  sir.” 

“ Pooh!”  returned  Dick,  “ I've  better  fun  for  you.”  He 
then  told  them  of  the  accident  that  conveyed  their  political 
enemy  into  their  toils;  “and  the  beauty  of  it  is,”  said 
Dick,  “ that  he  has  not  the  remotest  suspicion  of  the  con- 
dition he's  in,  and  fancies  himself  able  to  buy  and  sell  all 
Ireland,  horse-dealers  and  attorneys  included.” 

“That's  elegant!”  said  Murphy. 

“ He's  come  to  enlighten  us,  Murtough,”  said  Dick. 
“And  maybe- we  won't  return  the  compliment,”  said 
Murtough.  “Just  let  me  put  on  my  boots.  Hilloa,  you 
Larry!  saddle  the  gray.  Don't  you  cut  the  pup's  ears  till 
I come  home!  and  if  Mr.  Ferguson  sends  over  for  the  draft 
of  the  lease,  tell  him  it  won't  be  ready  till  to-morrow. 
Molly!  Molly!  where  are  you,  you  old  divil?  Sew  on  that 
button  for  me — I forgot  to  tell  you  yesterday — make  haste! 
I won't  delay  you  a moment,  Dick.  Stop  a minute, 
though.  I say,  Lanty  Houligan — mind,  on  your  peril,  you 
old  vagabone,  don't  let  them  fight  that  badger  without  me. 
Now,  Dick,  I'll  be  with  you  in  the  twinkling  of  a bedpost, 
and  clo  the  Englishman,  and  that  smart!  Bad  luck  to  their 
conceit!  they  think  we  can  do  nothing  regular  in  Ireland.” 
On  his  arrival  at  Merryvale  and  hearing  how  matters 
stood,  Murtough  Murphy  w7as  in  a perfect  agony  of  delight 
in  anticipating  the  mystification  of  the  kidnapped  agent. 
Dick's  intention  had  been  to  take  him  along  with  them  on 
their  canvass,  and  openly  engage  him  in  all  their  election- 


124 


fiAHDY  AKBf. 


eering  movements;  but  to  this  Murphy  objected,  as  fun- 
ning too  great  a risk  of  discovery.  He  recommended  rather 
to  engage  Furlong  in  amusements  which  would  detain  him 
from  O'Grady  and  his  party,  and  gain  time  for  their  side; 
and  get  out  of  him  all  the  electioneering  plot  of  the  other 
party,  indirectly;  but  to  have  as  little  real  electioneering 
business  as  possible.  “ If  you  do,  Dick,”  said  Murphy, 
“take  my  word,  we  shall  betray  ourselves  somehow  or 
other — he  could  not  be  so  soft  as  not  to  see  it;  but  let  us  be 
content  to  amuse  him  with  all  sorts  of  absurd  stories  of  Ire- 
land— and  the  Irish — tell  him  magnificent  lies — astonish 
him  with  grand  materials  for  a note-book,  and  work  him 
up  to  publish — that’s  the  plan,  sir!” 

The  three  conspirators  now  joined  the  family  party, 
which  had  just  sat  down  to  breakfast;  Dick,  in  his  own 
jolly  way,  hoped  Furlong  had  slept  well. 

“ Vewy,”  said  Furlong,  as  he  sipped  his  tea  with  an  air  of 

6eculiar  nonchalance  which  was  meant  to  fascinate  Fanny 
lawson,  who,  when  Furlong  addressed  to  her  his  first  silly 
commonplace  with  his  peculiar  ^^-pronunciation  of  the 
letter  E,  established  a lisp  directly,  and  it  was  as  much  as 
her  sister,  Mrs.  Egan,  could  do  to  keep  her  countenance, 
as  Fanny  went  on  slaughtering  the  S's  as  fast  as  Furlong 
ruined  E's. 

“ I'll  twouble  you  for  a little  mo'  quoam,”  said  he,  hold- 
ing forth  his  cup  and  saucer  with  an  affected  air. 

“ Perhapth  you'd  like  thum  more  theugar,”  lisped  Fanny, 
lifting  the  sugar-tongs  with  an  exquisite  curl  of  her  little 
finger. 

“ I'm  glad  to  hear  you  slept  well,”  said  Dick  to  Fur- 
long. 

“To  be  sure  he  slept  well,”  said  Murphy;  “this  is  the 
sleepiest  air  in  the  world.” 

“ The  sleepiest  air?”  returned  Furlong,  somewhat  sur- 
prised. “ That  is  vewy  odd.” 

“Not  at  all,  sir,”  said  Murphy;  “well-known  fact. 
When  I first  came  to  this  part  of  the  country,  I used  to 
sleep  for  two  days  together  sometimes.  Whenever  I wanted 
to  rise  early,  I was  always  obliged  to  get  up  the  night  be- 
fore.” 

. This  was  said  by  the  brazen  attorney,  from  his  seat  at  a 
side-table,  which  was  amply  provided  with  a large  dish  of 
boiled  potatoes,  capacious  jugs  of  milk,  a quantity  of  cold 


BANDY  ANDY. 


128 


meat  and  game.  Murphy  had  his  mouth  half  filled  with 
potatoes  as  he  spoke,  and  swallowed  a large  draught  of 
milk  as  the  stranger  swallowed  Murphy^s  lie. 

“ You  donT  eat  potatoes,  I perceive,  sir  ?”  said  Murphy. 

“ Not  for  bweakfast,”  said  Furlong. 

“ Do  you  for  thupper?”  said  Fanny. 

“ Never  in  England,”  he  replied. 

“ Finest  things  in  the  world,  sir,  for  the  intellect/  said 
Murphy.  “ I attribute  the  natural  intelligence  of  the  Irish 
entirely  to  their  eating  them.  ” 

“ Oh,  they  are  thometimes  thothleepy  at  the  Cathtle,” 
said  Fanny. 

“ Wcally!”  said  the  exquisite,  with  the  utmost  simplicity. 
“ Fanny  is  very  provoking,  Mr.  Furlong,”  said  Mrs. 
Egan,  who  was  obliged  to  say  something  with  a smile,  to 
avoid  the  laugh  which  continued  silence  would  have  forced 
upon  her. 

“Oh,  no!”  said  the  dandy,  looking  tenderly  at  Fanny; 
“ only  vewy  agweable — fond  of  a little  wepaTee.” 

“ They  call  me  thatirical  here,”  said  Fanny,  “ only 
fanthy!”  and  she  cast  down  her  eyes  with  an  exquisite 
affectation  of  innocence. 

“ By  the  bye,  when  does  your  post  awive  here — the  mail 
I mean?”  said  Furlong. 

“About  nine  in  the  morning,”  said  the  Squire. 

“ And  when  does  it  go  out?” 

“ About  one  in  the  afternoon.” 

“ And  how  far  is  the  post  town  fwom  your  house?” 

“ About  eight  or  nine  miles.” 

“ Then  you  can  answer  your  letters  by  wetuhi  of  post?” 
“Oh  dear,  no!”  said  the  Squire;  “the  boy  takes  any 
letters  that  may  be  for  the  post  the  following  morning,  as 
he  goes  to  the  town  to  look  for  letters.” 

“ But  you  lose  a post  by  that,”  said  Furlong. 

“ And  what  matter?”  said  the  Squire. 

The  official's  notions  of  regularity  were  somewhat  startled 
by  the  Squired  answer;  so  he  pushed  him  with  a few  more 
questions.  In  reply  to  one  of  the  last,  the  Squire  repre- 
sented that  the  postboy  was  saved  going  twice  a day  by  the 
present  arrangement. 

“Ay,  but  you  lose  a post,  my  dear  sir,”  said  Furlong, 
who  still  clung  with  pertinacity  to  the  fitness  of  saving  a 
post,  “ Ikm't  you  see  that  you  might  weceive  your  letter 


128 


HANDY  ANDY. 


at  half-past  ten;  well,  then  you’ll  have  a full  hour  to  wite 
you’  answer;  that’s  quite  enough  time,  I should  think,  for 
you  wetu’ning  an  answer.  ” 

“ But,  my  dear  sir,”  said  Murtough  Murphy,  “ our  grand 
object  in  Ireland  is  not  to  answer  letters.” 

“ Oh! — ah! — hum! — indeed! — well,  that’s  odd;  how  veivy 
odd  you  Iwish  are!” 

“Sure,  that’s  what  makes  us  such  pleasant  fellows,” 
said  Murtough.  “ If  we  were  like  the  rest  of  the  world, 
there  would  b<*  nothing  remarkable  about  us;  and  who’d 
care  for  us?” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Muffy,  you  say  such  queer  things — weally.  ” 
“ Ay,  and  I do  queer  things  sometimes — don’t  I,  Squire?” 
“ There’s  no  denying  it,  Murphy.” 

“Now,  Mr.  O’Gwady,”  said  Furlong,  “had  we  not 
better  talk  over  our  election  business?” 

“ Oh,  hang  business  to-day!”  said  Murphy;  “ let’s  have 
some  fishing:  I’ll  show  you  such  salmon-fishing  as  you 
never  saw  in  your  life.” 

“What  do  you  say,  Mr.  O’Gwady?”  said  Furlong. 

“ ’Faith,  I think  we  might  as  well  amuse  ourselves.” 
“But  the  election  is  weally  of  such  consequence;  I 
should  think  it  would  be  a wema’kably  close  contest,  and 
we  have  no  time  to  lose;  I should  think — with  submis- 
sion— ” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  said  Murphy,  “ we’ll  beat  them  hollow; 
our  canvass  has  been  most  prosperous;  there’s  only  one 
thing  I’m  afraid  of.” 

“What’s  that?”  said  Furlong. 

“ That  Egan  has  money;  and  I’m  afraid  he’ll  bribe 
high.” 

“ As  for  bwibewy,  neve’  mind  that,”  said  Furlong,  with 
a very  wise  nod  of  his  head  and  a sagacious  wink.  “ We’ll 
spend  money  too . We’re  pwepawed  for  that:  plenty  of 
money  will  be  advanced,  for  the  gov’nment  is  weally  anx- 
ious that  Mr.  Scatte’bwain  should  come  in.” 

“Oh,  then,  all’s  right?”  said  Murphy.  “But — whisper 

— Mr.  Furlong — be  cautious  how  you  mention  money , for 
there  are  sharp  fellows  about  here,  and  there’s  no  knowing 
how  the  wind  of  the  word  might  put  the  other  party  on 
their  guard,  and,  may  be,  help  to  unseat  our  man  upon  a 
petition.” 

*‘0h,  let  me  alone,”  said  Furlong.  “I  know  a twipk 


HAtfDY  / tfDY.  127 

too  many  for  that;  let  them  catch  me  betwaying  a secwet? 
No,  no — wather  too  sharp  for  that!" 

“ Oh,  don't  suppose,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Murphy,  “ that 
I doubt  your  caution  for  a moment.  I see,  sir,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  a man's  character — always  did — always 
could,  since  I was  the  height  o'  that;"  and  Murphy 
stooped  down  and  extended  his  hand  about  two  feet  above 
the  floor,  while  he  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the  man  he 
was  humbugging  with  the  most  unblushing  impudence — * 
“ since  I was  the  height  o'  that,  sir,  I had  a natural  quick- 
ness for  discerning  character;  and  I see  you're  a young 
gentleman  of  superior  acuteness  and  discretion;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  don't  be  angry  with  me  for  just  hinting  to  you, 

that  some  of  these  Irish  chaps  are  d d rogues.  I beg  your 

pardon,  Mrs.  O'Grady,  for  saying  d d before  a lady;"  and 

he  made  a low  bow  to  Mrs.  Egan,  who  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  room  to  hide  her  laughter. 

“ Now,"  said  Furlong,  “ suppose  befo'e  the  opening  of 
the  poll,  we  should  pwopose,  as  it  were,  with  a view  to 
save  time,  that  the  bwibery  oath  should  not  be  adminis- 
te'd  on  either  side." 

“ That's  an  elegant  idea!"  said  Murphy.  “ By ‘the  wig 
o'  the  chief  justice — and  that's  a big  oath — you're  a janius, 
Misther  Furlong,  and  I admire  you.  Sir,  you're  worth 
your  weight  in  gold  to  us!" 

“Oh,  you  flatte'me! — weally,"  said  Furlong,  with  af- 
fected modesty,  while  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  Ma- 
cassar-oiled ringlets. 

“Well,  now  for  a start  to  the  river,  and  won't  we  have 
sport!  You  English-taught  gentlemen  have  only  one  fault 
on  the  face  of  the  earth — you're  too  fond  of  business — you 
make  yourselves  slaves  to  propriety — there's  no  fun  in 
you." 

“ I beg  pawdon — there,"  said  Furlong,  “ we  like  fun  in 
good  time." 

“Ay;  but  there's  where  we  beat  you,"  said  Murphy, 
triumphantly;  “the  genuine  home-bred  Paddy  makes  time 
for  fun  sooner  than  anything  else — we  take  our  own  way, 
and  live  the  longer." 

“Ah!  you  lose  your  time — though — excuse  me;  you  lose 
your  time,  indeed." 

“ Well,  ‘ divil  may  care,'  as  Punch  said  when  he  lost  mass; 
4 there's  more  churches  nor  one,'  says  he,  and  thaPe  th§ 


198 


HANDY  ANDY. 


way  with  us/'  said  Murphy.  “ Come,  Dick,  get  the  fish-* 
ing-lines  ready;  heigh  for  the  salmon-fishery!  You  must 
know,  Misther  Furlong,  we  fish  for  salmon  with  line  here." 

“ I don't  see  how  you  could  fish  any  other  way,"  said  the 
dandy,  smiling  at  Murphy,  as  if  he  had  caught  him  in  say- 
ing something  absurd. 

“ Ah,  you  rogue,"  said  Murphy,  affecting  to  be  hit; 
“ you're  too  sharp  for  us  poor  Irish  fellows;  but  you  know 
the  old  saying,  ‘ An  Irishman  has  leave  to  speak  twice;' 
but,  after  all,  it's  no  great  mistake  I've  made;  for  when  I 
say  we  fish  for  salmon  with  a line,  I mean  we  don't  use  a 
rod,  but  a leaded  line,  the  same  as  in  sea-fishing." 

“ How  vewy  extwao'dinary!  Why,  I should  think  that 
impossible." 

“ And  why  should  it  be  impossible?"  said  Murphy,  with 
the  most  unabashed  impudence.  “Have  not  all  nations 
habits  and  customs  peculiar  to  themselves?  Don't  the  En- 
glish catch  their  fish  by  striking  them  under  water  with  a 
long  rough  stick,  and  a little  curwhibble  of  a bone  at  the 
end  of  it?" 

“ Speawing  them,  you  mean,"  said  Furlong. 

“ Ay,  you  know  the  right  name,  of  course;  but  isn't  that 
quite  as  odd,  or  more  so,  than  our  way  here?" 

“ That's  vewy  twue  indeed;  but  your  sea-line  fishing  in 
a wiver,  and  for  salmon,  strikes  me  as  vewy  singular." 

“Well,  sir,  the  older  we  grow  the  more  we  learn.  You'll 
see  what  fine  sport  it  is;  but  don't  lose  any  more  time:  let 
us  be  off  to  the  river  at  once." 

“ I'll  make  a slight  change  in  my  dwess,  if  you  please — 
I'll  be  down  immediately;"  and  Furlong  left  the  room. 

During  his  absence,  the  Squire,  Dick,  and  Murphy  en- 
joyed a hearty  laugh,  and  ran  over  the  future  proceedings 
-of  the  day. 

“ But  what  do  you  mean  by  this  salmon-fishing,  Mur- 
phy?" said  Dick;  “you  know  there  never  was  a salmon  in 
the  river." 

“ But  there  will  be  to-day,"  said  Murphy;  “ and  a mag- 
nificent gudgeon  will  see  him  caught.  What  a spoon 
that  fellow  is! — we've  got  the  bribery  out  of  him  already." 

“You  did  that  well,  Murphy,"  said  the  Squire. 

“ Be  at  him  again  when  he  comes  down,"  said  Dick. 

“ Ho,  no,"  said  Murphy,  “ let  him  alone;  he  is  so  con- 
ceited about  his  talent  for  business,  that  he  will  be  talking 


HANDY  ANDY. 


129 


of  it  without  our  pushing  him:  just  give  him  rope  enough- 
andhe'd  hang  himself;  we’ll  have  the  whole  of  their  cam , 
paign  out  before  the  day  is  over.” 


CHAPTER  XL 

All  men  love  to  gain  their  ends;  most  men  are  content- 
ed with  the  shortest  road  to  them,  while  others  like  by- 
paths. Some  carry  an  innate  love  of  triumph  to  a pitch 
of  epicurism,  and  are  not  content  unless  the  triumph  be 
achieved  in  a certain  way,  making  collateral  passions 
accessories  before  or  after  the  fact;  and  Murphy  was  one 
of  the  number.  To  him,  a triumph  without  fun  was  beef 
without  mustard,  lamb  without  salad,  turbot  without  lob- 
ster sauce.  Now,  to  entangle  Furlong  in  their  meshes  was 
not  sufficient  for  him;  to  detain  him  from  his  friends, 
every  moment  betraying  something  of  their  electioneering 
movements,  though  sufficiently  ludicrous  in  itself,  was  not 
enough  for  Murtough!  he  would  make  his  captive  a source 
of  ridicule  as  well  as  profit,  and  while  plenty  of  real  amuse- 
ments might  have  served  his  end,  to  divert  the  stranger  for 
the  day,  this  mock  fishing-party  was  planned  to  brighten 
with  fresh  beams  the  halo  of  the  ridiculous  which  already 
encircled  the  magnanimous  Furlong. 

“ Fm  still  in  the  dark,”  said  Dick,  “ about  the  salmon. 
As  I said  before,  there  never  was  a salmon  in  the  river.  ” 

“ But  as  I said  before,”  replied  Murphy,  “ there  will  be 
to-day,  and  you  must  help  me  in  playing  off  the  trick.  ” 

“ But  what  is  this  trick?  Confound  you,  you're  as  mys- 
terious as  a chancery  suit.” 

“ I wish  I was  likely  to  last  half  as  long,”  said  Murphy. 
“The  trick!”  said  Dick.  “Bad  luck  to  you,  tell  me 
the  trick,  and  don't  keep  me  waiting,  like  a poor  relation.” 
“ You  have  two  boats  on  the  river?”  said  Murphy. 
“Yes.” 

“ Well,  you  must  get  into  one  with  our  victim:  and  X 
can  get  into  the  other  with  the  salmon.  ” 

“ But  where's  the  salmon,  Murphy?” 

“ In  the  house,  for  I sent  one  over  this  morning,  a pres- 
ent to  Mrs.  Egan.  You  must  keep  away  about  thirty 
yards  or  so,  when  we  get  afloat,  that  our  dear  friend  may 
not  perceive  the  trick — and  in  proper  time  I will  hook  my 


130 


HAKDY  AET>Y. 


dead  salmon  on  one  of  my  lines,  drop  him  over  the  oil-side 
of  the  boat,  pass  him  round  to  the  gunwale  within  view  of 
our  intelligent  Castle  customer,  make  a great  outcry,  swear 
I have  a noble  bite,  haul  up  my  fish  with  an  enormous 
splash,  and,  affecting  to  kill  him  in  the  boat,  hold  up  my 
salmon  in  triumph." 

“ It's  a capital  notion,  Murphy,  if  he  doesn't  smoke  the 
trick/' 

4 ‘ He'll  smoke  the*  salmon  sooner.  Never  mind,  if  I 
don't  hoax  him:  I'll  bet  you  what  you  like  he's  done." 

“ I hear  him  coming  down-stairs,"  said  the  Squire. 

“ Then  send  off  the  salmon  in  a basket  by  one  of  the 
boys,  Dick,"  said  Murphy;  “ and  you.  Squire,  may  go 
about  your  canvass,  and  leave  us  in  care  of  the  enemy." 

All  was  done  as  Murphy  proposed,  and,  in  something 
less  than  an  hour,  Furlong  and  Dick  in  one  boat,  and  Mur- 
phy and  his  attendant  gossoon  in  another,  were  afloat  on 
the  river,  to  initiate  the  Dublin  citizen  into  the  mysteries 
of  this  new  mode  of  salmon-fishing. 

The  sport  at  first  was  slack,  and  no  wonder;  and  Fur- 
long began  to  grow  tired,  when  Murphy  hooked  on  his 
salmon,  and  gently  brought  it  round  under  the  water  within 
range  of  his  victim's  observation. 

“ This  is  wather  dull  work,"  said  Furlong. 

“ Wait  awhile,  my  dear  sir;  they  are  never  lively  in  bit- 
ing so  early  as  this — they're  not  set  about  feeding  in  earnest 
yet.  Hilloa!  by  the  Hokey  I have  him!"  shouted  Mur- 
phy. Furlong  looked  on  with  great  anxiety,  as  Murphy 
made  a well-feigned  struggle  with  a heavy  fish. 

By  this  and  that,  he's  a whopper!"  cried  Murphy  in 
ecstasy.  “ He's  kicking  like  a two-year  old.  I have  him, 
though,  as  fast  as  the  rock  o'  Dunamase.  Come  up,  you 
thief!"  cried  he,  with  an  exulting  shout,  as  he  pulled  up 
the  salmon  with  all  the  splash  he  could  produce ; and  sud- 
denly whipping  the  fish  over  the  side  into  the  boat,  lie 
began  flapping  it  about  as  if  it  were  plunging  in  the  death- 
struggle.  As  soon  as  he  had  affected  to  kill  it,  he  held  it 
Up  in  triumph  before  the  Castle  conjuror,  who  was  quite 
taken  in  by  the  feint,  and  protested  his  surprise  loudly. 

“ Oh!  that's  nothing  to  what  we'll  do  yet.  If  the  day 
should  become  a little  more  overcast,  we'd  have  splendid 
sport,  sir, " 


131 


HANDY  A KDY. 

“ Well,  I could  not  have  believed,  if  I hadn't  seen  it,” 
said  Furlong. 

“ Oh!  you'll  see  more  than  that,  my  boy,  before  -we've 
done  with  them. " 

“ But  I haven't  got  even  a bite  yet!" 

“ Nor  I either,"  said  Dick;  “ you're  not  worse  o2  than 
lam. " 

“ But  how  extwao'dinawy  it  is  that  I have  not  seen  a 
fish  wise  since  I have  been  on  the  wiver." 

6 6 That's  because  they  see  us  watching  them,"  said  Dick. 
“ The  d — 1 such  cunning  brutes  I ever  met  with  as  the  fish 
•in  this  river;  now,  if  you  were  at  a distance  from  the  bank, 
you'd  see  them  jumping  as  lively  as  grasshoppers.  Whisht! 
I think  I had  a nibble. " 

“ You  don't  seem  to  have  good  sport  there,"  shouted 
Murphy. 

“ Vewy  poo'  indeed,"  said  Furlong,  dolefully. 

“ Play  your  line  a little,"  said  Murphy;  “ keep  the  bait 
lively — you're  not  up  to  the  way  of  fascinating  them  yet." 

“ Why,  no;  it's  wather  noo  to  me." 

“ Faith!"  said  Murphy  to  himself,  “ it's  new  to  all  of 
Us.  It's  a brand-new  invention  in  the  fishing  line. 
Billy,"  said  he  to  the  gossoon , who  wTas  in  the  boat  with 
him,  “ we  must  catch  a salmon  again  to  divart  that  strange 
gentleman — hook  him  on,  my  buck." 

“ Yes,  sir,"  said  Billy,  with  delighted  eagerness,  for  the 
boy  entered  into  the  fun  of  the  thing  heart  and  soul,  and 
as  he  hooked  on  the  salmon  for  a second  haul,  he  inter- 
larded his  labors  with  such  ejaculations  as,  66  Oh,  Misther 
Murphy,  sir,  but  you're  the  funny  jintleman.  Oh,  Misther 
Murphy,  sir,  how  soft  the  stranger  is,  sir.  The  salmon's 
ready  for  ketchia'  now,  sir.  Will  you  ketch  him  yet,  sir?" 

4 4 Coax  him  round,  Billy,"  said  Murphy. 

The  young  imp  executed  the  maneuver  with  adroitness; 
and  Murphy  was  preparing  for  another  haul,  as  Furlong's 
weariness  began  to  manifest  itself. 

“ Do  you  intend  wemaining  here  all  day?  Do  you  know, 
I think  I've  no  chance  of  spo't." 

“ Oh,  wait  till  you  hook  one  fish,  at  all  events,"  said 
Murphy;  “ just  have  it  to  say  you  killed  a salmon  in  the 
new  style.  The  day  is  promising  better.  I'm  sure  we'll 
have  sport  yet.  Hilloa!  I've  another!"  and  Murphy  began 
hauling  in  the  salmon.  “ Billy,  you  rascal,  get  ready; 


132 


HADKY  ANDY. 


watch  him — that’s  it — mind  him  now!”  Billy  put  out  his 
gaff  to  seize  the  prize,  and,  making  a grand  swoop,  affect^ 
ed  to  miss  the  fish.  “ Gaff  him,  you  thief,  gaff  him!” 
shouted  Murphy,  “ gaff  him,  or  he’ll  be  off.” 

“ Oh,  he’s  so  lively,  sir!”  roared  Billy;  “ he’s  a rogue, 
sir — he  won’t  let  me  put  the  gaff  undher  him,  sir— ow,  he 
slipped  away  agin.  ” 

“ Make  haste,  Billy,  or  I can’t  hold  him.” 

“ Oh,  the  thief!”  said  Billy;  “ one  would  think  he  was 
cotcht  before,  he’s  so  up  to  it.  Ha!  hurroo!  I have  him 
now,  sir.”  Billy  made  all  the  splash  he  could  in  the  water 
as  Murphy  lifted  the  fish  to  the  surface  and  swung  him  into 
the  boat.  Again  there  was  the  flopping  and  the  riot,  and 
Billy  screeching,  “ Kill  him,  sir!  kill  him,  sir!  or  he’ll  be 
off  out  o’  my  hands!”  In  proper  time  the  fish  was  killed 
and  shown  up  in  triumph,  and  the  imposture  completed. 

And  now  Furlong  began  to  experience  that  peculiar  long- 
ing to  catch  a fish,  which  always  possesses  men  who  see 
fish. taken  by  others;  and  the  desire  to  have  a salmon  of  his 
own  killing  induced  him  to  remain  on  the  river.  In  the 
long  intervals  of  idleness  which  occurred  between  the  occa- 
sional hooking  up  of  the  salmon,  which  Murphy  did  every 
now  and  then,  Furlong  would  be  talking  about  business  to 
Dick  Dawson,  so  that  they  had  not  been  very  long  on  the 
water  until  Dick  became  enlightened  on  some  more  very 
important  points  connected  with  the  election.  Murphy 
now  pushed  his  boat  on  toward  the  shore. 

“You’re  not  going  yet?”  said  the  anxious  fisherman; 
“ do  wait  till  I catch  a fish!” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Murphy:  “ I’m  only  going  to  put 
Billy  ashore,  and  send  home  what  we’ve  already  caught. 
Mrs.  O’ Grady  is  passionately  fond  of  salmon.” 

Billy  was  landed,  and  a large  basket,  in  which  the  salmon 
had  been  brought  down  to  the  boat,  was  landed  also — 
empty;  and  Murphy,  lifting  the  basket  as  if  it  contained  a 
considerable  weight,  placed  it  on  Billy’s  head,  and  the  sly 
young  rascal  bent  beneath  it,  as  if  all  the  fish  Murphy  had 
pretended  to  take  were  really  in  it;  and  he  went  on  his 
homeward  way,  with  a tottering  step,  as  if  the  load  were 
too  much  for  him. 

“ That  boy,”  said  Furlong,  “ will  never  be  able  to 
cawwy  all  those  fish  to  the  house.  ” 


HAHDY  AtfDY, 


133 


*c  Oh,  they  Won't  be  too  much  for  him,"  said  Dick. 
<c  Curse  the  fish!  I wish  they'd  bite.  That  thief,  Mur- 
phy, has  had  all  the  sport;  but  he's  the  best  fisherman  in 
the  country.  I'll  own  that." 

The  two  boats  all  this  time  had  been  drifting  down  the 
river,  and  on  opening  a new  reach  of  the  stream,  a some- 
what extraordinary  scene  of  fishing  presented  itself.  It 
was  not  like  Murphy's  fishing,  the  result  of  a fertile  inven- 
tion, but  the  consequence  of  the  evil  destiny  which  presid- 
ed over  all  the  proceedings  of  Handy  Andy.  The  fishing- 
party  in  the  boats  beheld  another  fishing-party  on  shore, 
with  this  difference  in  the  nature  of  what  they  sought  to 
catch,  that  while  they  in  the  boats  were  looking  for 
salmon,  those  on  shore  were  seeking  for  a post-chaise;  and 
as  about  a third  part  of  a vehicle  so  called  was  apparent 
about  the  water,  Furlong  exclaimed  with  extreme  sur- 
prise— 

“ Well,  if  it  ain't  a post-chaise!" 

“ Oh!  that's  nothing  extraordinary,"  said  Dick;  “ com- 
mon enough  here." 

“ How  do  you  mean?" 

“ We've  a custom  hereof  running  steeple-chases  in  post- 
chaises." 

46  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Furlong.  “ Come,  that's  too 
good." 

4 4 You  don't  believe  it,  I see,"  said  Dick.  “ But  you 
did  not  believe  the  salmon-fishing  till  you  saw  it. " 

“ Oh,  come  now!  How  the  deuce  could  you  leap  a ditch 
in  a post-chaise?" 

“ I never  said  we  leaped  ditches;  I only  said  we  rode 
steeple-chases.  The  system  is  this:  You  go  for  a given 
point,  taking  high-road,  by-road,  plain,  or  lane,  as  the  case 
may  be,  making  the  best  of  your  way  how  you  can.  Now 
our  horses  in  this  country  are  celebrated  for  being  good 
swimmers,  so  it's  a favorite  plan  to  shirk  a bridge  some- 
times by  swimming  a river." 

“ But  no  post-chaise  will  float,"  said  Furlong,  regularly 
arguing  against  Dick's  mendacious  absurdity. 

“ Oh!  we  are  prepared  for  that  here.  The  chaises  are 
made  light,  have  cork  bottoms,  and  all  the  solid  work  is 
made  hollow;  the  doors  are  made  water-tight,  and,  if  the 
stream  runs  strong,  the  passenger  jumps  out  and  swims, " 


134 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ But  that's  not  fair/'  said  Furlong;  ce  it  alters  the 

weight. " 

“ Oh!  it's  allowed  on  both  sides/'  said  Dick,  “ so  it's  all 
the  same.  It's  as  good  for  the  goose  as  the  gander." 

“ I wather  imagine  it  is  much  fitter  for  geese  and  gan- 
ders than  human  beings.  I know’  I should  wather  be  a 
goose  on  the  occasion. " 

All  this  time  they  were  nearing  the  party  on  shore,  and 
as  the  post-chaise  became  more  developed,  so  did  the  per- 
sonages on  the  bank  of  the  river:  and  amongst  these  Dick 
Dawson  saw  Handy  Andy  in  the  custody  of  two  men,  and 
Squire  O'Grady  shaking  his  fist  in  his  face  and  storming 
at  him.  How  all  this  party  came  there,  it  is  necessary  to 
explain.  When  Handy  Andy  had  deposited  Furlong  at 
Merryvale,  he  drove  back  to  pick  up  the  fallen  postilion 
and  his  brother  on  the  road;  but  before  he  reached  them, 
he  had  to  pass  a public-house— I say  had  to  pass— but  he 
didn't.  Andy  stopped,  as  every  honorable  postilion  is 
bound  to  do,  to  drink  the  health  of  the  gentleman  who 
gives  him  the  last  half-crown:  and  he  was  so  intent  on 
6 ‘ doing  that  same,"  as  they  say  in  Ireland,  that  Andy's 
driving  became  very  equivocal'  afterward.  In  short,  he 
drove  the  post-chaise  into  the  river;  the  horses  got  disen- 
tangled by  kicking  the  traces  (which  were  very  willing  to 
break)  into  pieces;  and  Andy,  by  sticking  to  the  neck  of 
the  horse  he  rode,  got  out  of  the  water.  The  horses  got 
home  without  the  post-chaise,  and  the  other  post-chaise 
and  pair  got  home  without  a postilion,  so  that  Owny  Doyle 
was  roused  from  his  bed  by  the  neighing  of  the  horses  at 
the  gate  of  the  inn.  Great  was  his  surprise  at  the  event, 
as,  half  clad,  and  a candle  in  his  hand,  he  saw  two  pairs  of 
horses,  one  chaise,  and  no  driver,  at  his  door.  The  next 
morning  the  plot  thickened.  Squire  O'Grady  came  to 
know  if  a gentleman  had  arrived  at  the  town  on  his  way  to 
Neck-or-nothing  Hall.  The  answer  was  in  the  affirma- 
tive. Then  “ Where  was  he?"  became  a question.  Then 
the  report  arrived  of  the  post-chaise  being  upset  in  the 
river.  Then  came  stories  of  postilions  falling  off,  of 
postilions  being  changed,  of  Handy  Andy  being  employed 
to  take  the  gentleman  to  the  place;  and  out  of  these 
materials  the  story  became  current,  that  “ an  English  gen- 
tleman was  dhrownded  in  the  river  in  a post-chaise." 
O' Grady  set  off  directly  with  a party  to  have  the  river 


fiAHDY  AHDY, 


135 


dragged,  &tid  near  the  spot  encountering  Handy  Andy,  he 
ordered  him  to  be  seized,  and  accused  him  of  murdering 
his  friend. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  things  that  the  boats  approached 
the  party  on  land,  and  the  moment  Dick  Dawson  saw 
Handy  Andy,  he  put  out  his  oars  and  pulled  away  as  hard 
as  he  could.  At  the  moment  he  did  so,  Andy  caught  sight 
of  him,  and  pointing  out  Furlong  and  Dick  to  O'Grady,  he 
shouted,  44  There  he  is!  there  he  is!  X never  murdhered 
him!  There  he  is!  stop  him!  Misther  Dick,  stop,  for  the 
love  of  God!” 

44  What's  all  this  about?”  said  Furlong,  in  great  amaze-r 
ment. 

44  Oh,  he's  a process-server,”  said  Dick;  44  the  people 
are  going  to  drown  him,  may  be. " 

44  To  dwown  him?”  said  Furlong,  in  horror. 

44  If  he  has  luck,"  said  Dick,  44  they'll  only  give  him  a 
good  ducking;  but  we  had  better  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  I would  not  like  you  to  be  engaged  in  one  of  these 
popular  riots.” 

4 6 1 shouldn't  wellish  it  myself,”  said  Furlong. 

44  Pull  away,  Dick,”  said  Murphy;  44  let  them  kill  the 
blackguard,  if  they  like.  ” 

44  But  will  they  kill  him  weally?”  inquired  Furlong, 
somewhat  horrified. 

44  'Faith,  it's  just  as  the  whim  takes  them,”  said  Mur* 
phy;  44  but  as  we  wish  to  be  popular  on  the  hustings,  wg 
must  let  them  kill  as  many  as  they  please.” 

Andy  still  shouted  loud  enough  to  be  heard.  44  Misther 
Dick,  they're  goin'  to  murdher  me.” 

44  Poo' w 'etch!”  said  Furlong, with  a very  uneasy  shudder. 

44  May  be  you'd  think  it  right  for  us  to  land,  and  rescue 
him,”  said  Murphy,  affecting  to  put  about  the  boat. 

44  Oh,  by  no  means,"  said  Furlong.  44  You're  bettaw 
acquainted  with  the  customs  of  the  countwy  than  I am. " 

44  Then  we'll  row  back  to  dinner  as  fast  as  we  can, "said 
Murphy.  44  Pull  away,  my  hearties!”  and,  as  he  bent  tg 
his  oars,  he  began  bellowing  the  Canadian  Boat  Song,  to 
drown  Andy's  roar,  and  then  he  howled — 

“ Our  voices  keep  tune,” 

there  never  was  a more  practical  burlesque  upon  the  words; 
but  as  he  added — 

“ Our  oars  keep  time/’ 


136 


0A2TDY  AKDY. 


he  seemed  to  have  such  a pleasure  in  pulling,  and  looked 
so  lively  and  florid,  that  Furlong,  chilled  by  his  inactivity 
on  the  water,  requested  Murtough  to  let  him  have  an  oar, 
to  restore  circulation  by  exercise.  Murtough  complied  5 
but  the  novice  had  not  pulled  many  strokes,  before  his 
awkwardness  produced  that  peculiar  effect  called  “ catch- 
ing a crab, ” and  a smart  blow  upon  his  chest  sent  him 
heels  over  head  under  the  thwarts  of  the  boat. 

“ Wha-wha-a-t’s  that?”  gasped  Furlong,  as  he  scram- 
bled up  again. 

“ You  only  caught  a crab,”  said  Murtough. 

“ Good  Heaven!”  said  Furlong,  “you  don’t  mean  to 
say  there  are  crabs  as  well  as  salmon  in  the  wiver.” 

“ Just  as  many  crabs  as  salmon,”  said  Murtough;  “ pull 
away,  my  hearty.” 

“ Row,  brothers,  row — the  stream  runs  fast, 

The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight’s  pastl” 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

The  boats  doubled  round  an  angle  in  the  river,  and 
Andy  was  left  in  the  hands  of  Squire  O’ Grady  still  threat- 
ening vengeance;  but  Andy,  as  long  as  the  boats  remained 
in  sight,  heard  nothing  but  his  own  sweet  voice  shouting  at 
the  top  of  its  pitch,  “They’re  going  to  murdher  me! — 
Misther  Dick,  Misther  Dick,  come  back  for  the  love  o’ 
God!” 

“ What  are  you  roaring  like  a bull  for?”  said  the  Squire. 

“ Why  wouldn’t  I roar,  sir?  A bull  would  roar  if  he 
had  as  muchrayson.” 

“ A bull  has  more  reason  than  ever  you  had,  you  calf,” 
said  the  Squire. 

“ Sure  there  he  is,  and  can  explain  it  all  to  you,”  said 
Andy,  pointing  after  the  boats. 

“ Who  is  there?”  asked  the  Squire. 

“ Misther  Dick,  and  the  jintleman  that  I dhruv  there.” 

“ Drove  where?” 

“ To  the  Squire’s.” 

“ What  Squire?” 

“ Squire  Egau’s,  to  be  sure. 99 

•‘Hold  your  tongue,  you  rascal;  you’re  either  drunk 


IfAMVY  AtfDY. 


13? 

still,  or  telling  lies.  The  gentleman  I mean  wouldn't  go 
to  Mister  Egan's;  he  was  coming  to  me." 

44  That's  the  jintleman  I dhruv — that's  all  I know.  He 
was  in  the  shay,,  and  was  nigh  shootin'  me;  and  Micky 
Doolan  stopped  on  the  road,  when  his  brother  was  nigh 
killed,  and  towld  me  to  get  up,  for  he  wouldn't  go  no  far^ 
ther,  when  the  jintleman  objected — " 

44  What  did  the  gentleman  object  to?" 

“ He  objected  to  Pether  goin'  into  the  shay." 

44  Who  is  Peter?" 

44  Pether  Doolan,  to  be  sure." 

44  And  what  brought  Peter  Doolan  there?" 

44  He  fell  off  the  horses — " 

44  Wasn't  it  Mick  Doolan  you  said  was  driving  but  a mo- 
ment ago?" 

44  Ay,  sir,  but  that  was  th'  other  shay." 

44  What  other  chaise,  you  vagabond?" 

44  Th'  other  shay,  your  honor,  that  I never  see  at  all, 
good  or  bad — only  Pether. " 

44  What  diabolical  confusion  you  are  making  of  the  story, 
to  be  sure!  There's  no  use  in  talking  to  you  here,  I see. 
Bring  him  after  me,"  said  the  Squire,  to  some  of  his  peo- 
ple standing  by.  44  I must  keep  him  in  custody  till  some- 
thing more  satisfactory  is  made  out  about  the  matter." 

44  Sure  it's  not  makin'  a presner  of  me  you'd  be?"  said 
Andy. 

44  You  shall  be  kept  in  confinement,  you  scoundrel,  till 
something  is  heard  of  this  strange  gentleman.  I'm 
afraid  he's  drowned." 

44  D — 1 a dhrowned.  I dhruv  him  to  Squire  Egan's,  I'll 
take  my  book  oath." 

44  That's  downright  nonsense,  sir.  He  would  as  soon  go 
into  Squire  Egan's  house  as  go  to  Fiddler's  Green."* 

4 6 Faith,  then,  there's  worse  places  than  Fiddler's 
Green,"  said  Andy,  44  as  some  people  may  find  out  one  o' 
these  days." 

44 1 think,  boys,"  said  O'Grady,  to  the  surrounding 
countrymen,  44  we  must  drag  the  river. " 

44  Dhrag  the  river  if  you  please,"  said  Andy;  44  but,  for 
the  tendher  mercy  o'  Heaven,  don't  dhrag  me  to  jail!  By 

# * Fiddler’s  Green  is  supposed  to  be  situated  on  this  (the  cooler) 
Bide  of  the.  regions  below. 


m 


HANDY  AOT)Y. 


all  the  crosses  in  a yard  o’  check,  I dhruv  the  jintleman  to 
Squire  Egan’s! — and  there  he  was  in  that  boat  I showed 
you  five  minutes  agone.” 

“ Bring  him  after  me/j  said  O’ Grady.  “ The  fellow  i§ 
drunk  still,  or  forgets  all  about  it;  I must  examine  him 
again.  Take  him  over  to  the  Hall,  and  lock  him  up  till  I 
go  home .” 

“ Arrah,  sure,  your  honor,”  said  Andy,  commencing  an 
appeal. 

“ If  you  say  another  word,  you  scoundrel,”  said  the 
Squire,  shaking  his  whip  at  him,  “ IT1  commit  you  to  jaij 
this  minute.  Keep  a sharp  eye  after  him,  Molloy,”  were 
the  last  words  of  the  Squire  to  a stout-built  peasant,  who 
took  Andy  in  charge  as  the  Squire  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  away. 

Andy  was  marched  off  to  Neck-or-nothing  Hall;  and, 
in  compliance  with  the  Squire’s  orders,  locked  up  in  the 
justice-room.  This  was  an  apartment  where  the  Squire, 
in  his  magisterial  capacity,  dispensed  what  he  called  jus- 
tice, and  what  he  possibly  meant  to  be  such;  but  poor  Jus- 
tice coming  out  of  Squire  0’ Grady’s  hands  was  something 
like  the  little  woman  in  the  song,  who,  having  her  petti- 
coats cut  short  while  she  was  asleep,  exclaimed  on  her 
Waking: 

“ As  sure  as  I’m  a little  woman,  this  is  none  of  I:” 

only  that  Justice,  in  the  present  instance,  did  not  doubt  her 
identity  from  her  nakedness,  but  from  the  peculiar  dress- 
ing Squire  0’ Grady  bestowed  upon  her — she  was  so  muffled 
up  in  O’Gradyism  that  her  own  mother  (who,  by  the  same 
token,  was  Themis)  wouldn’t  know  her.  Indeed,  if  I re- 
member, Justice  is  worse  off  than  mortals  respecting  her 
parentage;  for  while  there  are  many  people  who  do  not 
know  who  were  their  fathers,  poets  are  uncertain  who  was 
Justice’s  mother — some  say  Aurora,  some  say  Themis. 
Now,  if  I might  indulge  at  this  moment  in  a bit  of  reverie, 
it  vfould  not  be  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  it  is  the 
classic  disposition  of  Ireland,  which  is  known  to  be  a very 
ancient  country?  that  tends  to  make  the  operations  of 
Justice  assimilate  with  the  uncertainty  of  her  birth;  for 
her  dispensations  there  are  as  distinct  as  if  they  were  the 
offspring  of  two  different  influences.  One  man’s  justice  is 
not  another  man’s  justice;  which,  I suppose,  must  arise 


HANDY  ANDY.  I ' 


139 

from  the  difference  of  opinion  as  to  who  and  what  Justice 
is.  Perhaps  the  rich  people,  who  incline  to  power,  may 
venerate  Justice  more  as  the  child  of  Jupiter  and  Themis; 
while  the  unruly  ones  worship  her  as  the  daughter  of  Titan 
and  Aurora;  for  undoubtedly  the  offspring  of  Aurora  must 
be  most  welcome  to  “ Peep-o’-day  boys.” 

Well — not  to  indulge  further  in  reverie — Andy,  I say, 
was  locked  up  in  the  justice-room;  and  as  I have  been 
making  all  these  observations  about  Justice,  a few  words 
will  not  be  thrown  awa^  about  the  room  which  she  was  sup- 
posed to  inhabit..  Then  I must  say  Squire  0 'Grady  did 
not  use  her  well.  The  room  was  a cold,  comfortless  apart- 
ment, with  a plastered  wall  and  an  earthen  floor,  save  at 
one  end,  where  a raised  platform  of  boards  sustained  a desk; 
and  one  high  office-chair.  No  other  seat  was  in  the  room, 
nor  was  there  any  lateral  window,  the  room  being  lighted 
from  the  top,  so  that  J ustice  could  be  in  no  way  interested 
with  the  country  outside — she  could  only  contemplate  her 
native  heaven  through  the  skylight.  Behind  the  desk 
were  placed  a rude  shelf,  where  some  “ modern  instances/* 
and  old  ones  too,  were  lying  covered  with  dust — and  a gun- 
rack,  where  some  carbines  with  fixed  bayonets  were  paraded 
in  show  of  authority;  so  that,  to  an  imaginative  mind,  the 
aspect  of  the  books  and  fire-arms  gave  tne  notion  of  Jus- 
tice on  the  shelf,  and  Law  on  the  rack. 

But  Andy  thought  not  of  these  things;  he  had  not  the 
imagination  which  sometimes  gives  a prisoner  a passing 
pleasure  in  catching  a whimsical  conceit  from  his  situation, 
and,  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety,  anticipating  the  satisfac- 
tion he  shall  have  in  saying  a good  thing,  even  at  the  ex- 

f)ense  of  his  own  suffering.  Andy  only  knew  that  he  was 
ocked  up  in  the  justice-room  for  something  he  never  did. 
He  had  only  sense  enough  to  feel  that  he  was  wronged, 
without  the  spirit  to  wish  himself  righted;  and  he  saun- 
tered up  and  down  the  cold,  miserable  room,  anxiously 
waiting  the  arrival  of  “ his  honor.  Squire  O'Grady,”  to 
know  what  his  fate  might  be,  and  wondering  if  they  would 
hang  him  for  upsetting  a post-chaise  in  which  a gentleman 
had,  been  riding,  rather  than  brooding  future  means  of  re- 
dress for  his  false  imprisonment.  ^ 

There  was  no  window  to  look  out  of;  he  had  not  the 
comfort  of  seeing  a passing  fellow-creature — for  the  sight 
one's  kind  is  a comfort*  He  could  not  even  behold  the 


140 


Handy  andy. 


green  earth  and  the  freshness  of  nature,  which,  though  all 
unconsciously,  has  still  a soothing  influence  on  the  unculti- 
vated mirfld ; he  had  nothing  but  the  walls  to  look  at,  and 
they  were  blank,  save  here  and  there  that  a burnt  stick  in 
the  hand  of  one  of  the  young  O’Gradies  emulated  the  art 
of  a Sandwich  Islander,  and  sketched  faces  as  grotesque  as 
any  Pagan  could  desire  for  his  idol;  or  figures  after  the  old 
well-established  school-boy  manner,  which  in  the  present 
day  is  called  Persian  painting,  4 4 warranted  to  be  taught  in 
three  lessons.”  Now,  this  bespeaks  degeneracy  in  the 
arts;  for,  in  the  time  we  write  of,  boys  and  girls  acquired 
the  art  without  any  lessons  at  all,  and  abundant  proofs  of 
this  intuitive  talent  existed  on  the  aforesaid  walls.  Napo- 
leon and  Wellington  were  fighting  a duel,  while  Nelson 
stood  by  to  see  fair  play,  he  having  nothing  better  to  do, 
as  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  represented  in  the  distance, 
could,  of  course,  go  on  without  him.  The  anachronism 
of  jumbling  Bonaparte,  Wellington,  and  Nelson  together, 
was  a trifle  amongst  the  O’Gradies,  as  they  were  nearly  as 
great  proficients  in  history,  ancient  and  modem,  as  in  the 
fine  arts.  Amidst  these  efforts  of  genius  appeared  many 
an  old  rhyme,  scratched  with  rusty  nails  by  rustier  police- 
men, while  lounging  in  the  justice-room  during  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  great  O’  Grady,  and  all  these  were  gone 
over  again  and  again  by  Andy,  till  they  were  worn  out,  all 
but  one — a rough  representation  of  a man  hanging. 

This  possessed  a sort  of  fascination  for  poor  Andy;  for 
at  last,  relinquishing  all  others,  he  stood  riveted  before  it, 
and  muttered  to  himself,  “ Iwondher  can  they  hang  me — 
sure  it’s  no  murdher  I done— but  who  knows  what  wit- 
nesses they  might  get?  and  these  times  they  sware  mighty 
hard;  and  Squire  O’Grady  has  such  a pack  o’  blackguards 
about  him,  sure  he  could  get  anything  swore  he  liked.  Oh, 
wirra!  wirra!  what’ll  I do  at  all!  Faix!  I wouldn’t  like  to 
be  hanged — oh!  look  at  him  there — just  the  last  kick  in 
him — and  a disgrace  to  my  poor  mother  into  the  bargain. 
Augh! — but  it’s  a dirty  death  to  die— to  be  hung  up  like  a 
dog  over  a gate,  or  an  old  hat  on  a peg,  just  that-a-way;” 
and  he  extended  his  arm  as  he  spoke,  suspending  his  cau - 
been,  while  he  looked  with  disgust  at  the  effigy.  “ But 
sure  they  can’t  hang  me — though  now  I remember  Squire 
Egan  towld  me  long  ago  I’d  be  hanged  some  day  or  other. 

I wondher  does  my  mother  know  I’m  tuk  away — and 


HANDY  ANDY. 


141 


Oonah,  too,  the  craythur,  would  be  sorry  for  me.  Maybe, 
if  my  mother  spoke  to  Squire  Egan,  his  honor  would  say  a 

§ood  word  for  me: — though  that  wouldn't  do;  for  him  and 
quire  0 'Grady's  bitther  inimies  now,  though  they  wor 
once  good  friends.  Och  hone!  sure  that's  the  way  o'  the 
world;  and  a cruel  world  it  is — so  it  is.  Sure  'twould  be 
well  to  be  out  of  it  a' most,  and  in  a betther  world.  I hope 
there's  no  po' chaises  in  heaven!" 

The  soliloquy  of  poor  Andy  was  interrupted  by  a low, 
measured  sound  of  thumping,  which  his  accustomed  ear  at 
once  distinguished  to  be  the  result  of  churning;  the  room 
in  which  he  was  confined  being  one  of  a range  of  offices 
stretching  backward  from  the  principal  building  and  next 
door  to  the  dairy.  Andy  had  grown  tired  by  this  time  of 
his  repeated  contemplation  of  the  rhymes  and  sketches, 
his  own  thoughts  thereon,  and  his  long  confinement;  and 
now  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  churn-dash  falling  on 
his  ear,  acted  as  a sort  of  husho ,*  and  the  worried  and 
wearied  Andy  at  last  lay  down  on  the  platform  and  fell 
asleep  to  the  bumping  lullaby. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

THE  sportsmen,  having  returned  from  their  fishing  ex- 
cursion to  dinner,  were  seated  round  the  hospitable  board 
of  Squire  Egan ; Murphy  and  Dick  in  high  glee,  at  still 
successfully  hoodwinking  Furlong,  and  carrying  on  their 
mystification  with  infinite  frolic. 

The  soup  had  been  removed,  and  they  were  in  the  act  of 
enjoying  the  salmon,  which  had  already  given  so  much  en- 
joyment, when  a loud  knocking  at  the  door  announced  the 
arrival  of  some  fresh  guest. 

“ Did  you  ask  any  one  to  dinner,  my  dear?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Egan  of  her  good-humored  lord,  who  was  the  very 
man  to  invite  any  friend  he  met  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
and  forget  it  after. 

“ No,  my  dear,"  answered  the  Squire.  “ Did  you, 
Dick?"  said  he. 

Dick  replied  in  the  negative,  and  said  he  had  better  go 

* A soft,  monotonous  chant  the  nurses  sing  to  children  to  induce 

sleep. 


142 


HANDY  ANDY. 


and  see  who  it  was;  for  looks  of  alarm  had  been  exchanged 
between  him,,  the  Squire,  and  Murphy,  lest  any  stranger 
should  enter  without  being  apprised  of  the  hoax  going  for- 
ward; and  Dawson  had  just  reached  the  dining-room  door 
on  his  cautionary  mission,  when  it  was  suddenly  thrown 
wide  open,  and  in  walked,  with  a rapid  step  and  bustling 
air,  an  active  little  gentleman  dressed  in  black,  who  was 
at  Mrs.  Egan's  side  in  a moment,  exclaiming  with  a very 
audible  voice  and  much  enipressement  of  manner: 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Egan,  how  do  you  do?  I am  delighted 
to  see  you.  Took  a friend's  privilege,  you  see,  and  have 
come  unbidden  to  claim  the  hospitality  of  your  table.  The 
fact  is,  I was  making  a sick-visit  to  this  side  of  my  parish; 
and  finding  it  impossible  to  get  home  in  time  to  my  own 
dinner,  I had  no  scruple  in  laying  yours  under  contribu- 
tion." 

Now  tlois  was  the  Protestant  clergyman  of  the  parish, 
whose  political  views  were  in  opposition  to  those  of  Mr. 
Egan;  but  the  good  hearts  of  both  men  prevented  political 
feeling  from  interfering,  as  in  Ireland  it  too  often  does, 
with  the  social  intercourse  of  life.  Still,  however,  if  Dick 
Dawson  had  got  out  of  the  room  in  time,  this  was  not  the 
man  to  assist  them  in  covering  their  hoax  on  Furlong,  and 
the  scene  became  excessively  ludicrous  the  moment  the 
reverend  gentleman  made  his  appearance.  Dick,  the 
Squire,  and  Murphy,  opened  their  eyes  at  each  other,  while 
Mrs.  Egan  grew  as  red  as  scarlet  when  Furlong  stared  at 
her  in  astonishment  as  the  new-comer  mentioned  her  name. 
She  stammered  out  welcome  as  well  as  she  could,  and 
called  for  a chair  for  Mr.  Bermingham,  with  all  sorts  of 
kind  inquiries  for  Mrs.  Bermingham  and  the  little  Ber- 
minghams — for  the  Bermingham  manufactory  in  that  line 
was  extensive. 

While  the  reverend  gentleman  was  taking  his  seat, 
spreading  his  napkin  and  addressing  a word  to  each  round 
the  table,  Furlong  turned  to  Fanny  Dawson,  beside  whom 
he  was  sitting  (and  who,  by  the  bye,  could  not  resist  a fit 
of  laughter  on  the  occasion),  and  said  with  a bewildered 
look:  ^ 

“ Did  he  not  addwess  Madame  as  Mistwess  Egan?" 

“Yeth,"said  Fanny,  with  admirable  readiness;  “ but 
whithper."  And  as  Furlong  inclined  his  head  toward  her, 
she  whispered  in  his  ear,  “ You  muthn't  mind  him — he's 


HANDY  ANDY. 


f 


143 


mad,  poor  man! — that  is,  a little inthane — and  thinks  every 
lady  is  Mrs.  Egan.  An  unhappy  pathion,  poor  fellow! — • 
but  quite  harmleth.” 

Furlong  uttered  a very  prolonged  “ Oh!”  at  Fanny's 
answer  to  his  inquiry,  and  looked  sharply  round  the  table, 
for  there  was  an  indefinable  something  in  the  conduct  of 
every  one  at  the  moment  of  Mr.  Bermingham's  entrance 
that  attracted  his  attention,  and  the  name  44  Egan/'  and 
everybody's  fidgetiness  (which  is  the  only  word  I can  ap- 
ply), roused  his  suspicion.  Fanny's  answer  only  half  satis- 
fied him;  and  looking  at  Mrs.  Egan,  who  could  not  conquer 
her  confusion,  he  remarked,  44  How  vewy  wed  Mistwess 
O'Gwady  gwew!" 

44  Oh!  thee  can't  help  bluthing,  poor  soul!  when  he 
thays  4 Egan ' to  her,  and  thinks  her  his  furih  love." 

44  How  vewy  widiculous  to  be  sure,"  said  Furlong. 

44  Haven’t  you  innothent  mad  people  thumtimes  in  Eng- 
land?" said  Fanny. 

44  Oh  vewy,”  said  Furlong,  44  but  this  appea's  to  me  so 
wema'kably  stwange  an  abbewation." 

44  Oh,"  returned  Fanny,  with  quickness,  44  I thuppos^ 
people  go  mad  on  their  ruling  pathion,  and  the  ruling 
pathion  of  the  Irish,  you  know,  is  love." 

The  conversation  all  this  time  was  going  on  in  other 
quarters,  and  Furlong  heard  Mr.  Bermingham  talking  of 
his  having  preached  last  Sunday  in  his  new  church. 

44  Suwely,"  said  he  to  Fanny,  44  they  would  not  pe'mi ; 
an  insane  cle'gyman  to  pweach?" 

44  Oh,"  said  Fanny,  almost  suffocating  with  laughter, 
44  he  only  thinktli  he's  a clergyman." 

44  How  vewy  dwoll  you  are!"  said  Furlong. 

44  Now  you're  only  quithing  me,"  said  Fanny,  looking 
with  affected  innocence  in  the  face  of  the  unfortunate 
young  gentleman  she  had  been  quizzing  most  unmercifully 
the  whole  day. 

44  Oh,  Miste'  O'Gwady,"  said  Furlong,  44  we  saw  them 
going  to  dwown  a man  to-day." 

46  Indeed!"  said  the  Squire,  reddening,  as  he  saw  Mr. 
Bermingham  stare  at  his  being  called  O'Grady;  so,  to  cover 
the  blot,  and  stop  Furlong,  he  asked  him  to  take  wine. 

44  Do  they  often  dwown  people  here?"  continued  Fur- 
long, after  he  had  bowed. 

44  Hot  that  I know  of,"  said  the  Squire. 


144 


HANDY  ANDY. 


u But  are  not  the  lowe3  orders  wather  given  to  what 
Lo3d  Bacon  calls — 33 

“ Who  cares  about  Lord  Bacon?33  said  Murphy. 

“ My  dear  sir,  you  sup  wise  me!33  said  Furlong,  in  utter 
amazement.  “ Lord  Bacon3s  sayings — 33 

“ Ton  my  conscience,33  said  Murphy,  “ both  himself 
and  his  sayings  are  very  rusty  by  this  time. 33 

st  Oh,  I see,  Miste3  Muffy.  You  neve3  will  be  sewious. 33 

* 1 Heaven  forbid!33  said  Murphy — “ at  least  at  dinner, 
or  after  dinner.  Seriousness  is  only  a morning  amusement 
— it  makes  a very  poor  figure  in  the  evening.33 

“ By  the  bye,33  said  Mr.  Bermingham,  “ talking  of 
drowning,  I heard  a very  odd  story  to-day  from  O3  Grady. 
You  and  he,  I believe,33  said  the  clergyman,  addressing 
Egan,  “ are  not  on  as  good  terms  as  you  were?33 

At  this  speech  Furlong  did  rather  open  his  eyes,  the 
Squire  hummed  and  hawed,  Murphy  coughed,  Mrs.  Egan 
looked  into  her  plate,  and  Dick,  making  a desperate  rush 
to  the  rescue,  asked  Furlong  which  he  preferred,  a single- 
or  a double-barreled  gun. 

Mr.  Bermingham,  perceiving  the  sensation  his  question 
created,  thought  he  had  touched  upon  forbidden  ground, 
and  therefore  did  not  repeat  his  question,  and  Fanny  whis- 
pered Furlong  that  one  of  the  stranger3  s mad  peculiarities 
was  mistaking  one  person  for  another;  but  all  this  did  not 
satisfy  Furlong,  whose  misgivings  as  to  the  real  name  of 
his  host  were  growing  stronger  every  moment.  At  last, 
Mr.  Bermingham,  without  alluding  to  the  broken  friend- 
ship between  Egan  and  O3  Grady,  returned  to  the  “ odd 
story  33  he  had  heard  that  morning  about  drowning. 

“ 3Tis  a strange  affair,33  said  he,  “ and  our  side  of  the 
country  is  all  alive  about  it.  A gentleman  who  was  expected 
from  Dublin  last  night  at  Neck-or-nothing  Hall,  arrived, 
as  it  is  ascertained,  at  the  village,  and  thence  took  a post- 
chaise,  since  which  time  he  has  not  been  heard  of;  and  as 
a post-chaise  was  discovered  this  morning  sunk  in  the 
river,  close  by  Ballysloughgutthery  bridge,  it  is  suspected 
the  gentleman  has  been  drowned  either  by  accident  or  de- 
sign. The  postilion  is  in  confinement  on  suspicion,  and 
O3 Grady  has  written  to  the  Castle  about  it  to-day,  for  the 
gentleman  was  a government  agent.33 

“ Why,  sir,33  said  Furlong,  “ that  must  be  me l3* 


BANDY  ANDY. 


145 

“ You,  sir!"  said  Mr.  Bermingham,  whose  turn  it  was 
to  be  surprised  now. 

“ Yes,  sir/*  said  Furlong,  “ I took  a post-chaise  at  the 
village  last  night,  and  I'm  an  agent  of  the  gove'ment.” 

“ But  you're  not  drowned,  sir — and  he  was,”  said  Ber- 
mingham. 

“ To  be  su'e  I'm  not  dwowned:  but  Fm  the  person.” 

“ Quite  impossible,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Bermingham.  “ You 
can't  be  the  person.” 

“ Why,  sir,  do  you  expect  to  persuade  me  out  of  my  own 
identity!” 

“ Oh,”  said  Murphy,  “ there  will  be  no  occasion  to 
prove  identity  till  the  body  is  found,. and  the  coroner's  in- 
quest sits;  that's  the  law,  sir — at  least,  in  Ireland.” 

Furlong's  bewildered  look  at  the  unblushing  impudence 
of  Murphy  was  worth  anything.  While  he  was  dumb 
from  astonishment,  Mr.  Bermingham,  with  marked  polite- 
ness, said,  “ Allow  me,  sir,  for  a moment  to  explain  to 
you.  You  see,  it  could  not  be  you,  for  the  gentleman  was 
going  to  Mr.  O'Grady's.” 

“ Well,  sir,”  said  Furlong,  “ and  here  I am.” 

The  wide  stare  of  the  two  men  as  they  looked  at  each 
other  was  killing;  and  while  Furlong's  face  was  turned 
toward  Mr.  Bermingham,  Fanny  caught  the  clergyman's 
eye,  tapped  her  foretead  with  the  forefinger  of  her  right 
hand,  shook  her  head,  and  turned  up  her  eyes  with  an  ex- 
pression of  pity,  to  indicate  that  Furlong  was  not  quite 
right  in  his  mind. 

“ Oh,  I beg  pardon,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Bermingham.  “ I 
see  it’s  a mistake  of  mine." 

“ There  certainly  is  a ^ewy  gweat  mistake  somewhere,” 
said  Furlong,  who  was  now  bent  on  a very  direct  question. 
“ Pway,  Miste'  O'Gwady,”  said  he,  addressing  Egan, 
“ that  is,  if  you  are  Miste'  O'Gwady,  will  you  tell  me,  are 
you  Miste'  O'Gwady?” 

‘ 4 Sir,"  said  the  Squire,  “you  have  chosen  to  call  mo 
O'Grady  ever  since  you  came  here,  but  my  name  is  Egan.  ” 

“What!  the  member  for  the  county?"  cried  Furlong, 
horrified. 

“Yes,”  said  the  Squire,  laughing;  “do  you  want  a 
frank?” 

“ 'Twill  save  your  friends  postage,”  said  Dick,  “ when 
you  write  to  them  to  say  you're  safe/' 


146 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“Miste*  Wegan,”  said  Furlong,  with  an  attempt  n 
offended  dignity,  “ I conside'  myself  yewy  ill  used.  ” 

“ You're  the  first  man  I ever  heard  of  being  ill  used  at 
Merry  vale  House,”  said  Murphy. 

“ Sir,  it's  a gwievous  w'ong!'' 

“ What  is  all  this  about?”  asked  Mr.  Bermingham. 

“ My  dear  friend,"  said  the  Squire,  laughing — though, 
indeed,  that  was  not  peculiar  to  Aim,  for  every  one  round 
the  table,  save  the  victim,  was  doing  the  same  thing  (as  for 
Fanny,  she  shouted ),  “ My  dear  friend,  this  gentleman 
came  to  my  house  last  night,  and  1 took  him  for  a friend 
Of  Moriarty's,  whom  I have  been  expecting  for  some  days. 
He  thought,  it  appears,  this  was  Neck-or-nothing  Hall, 
and  thus  a mutual  mistake  has  arisen.  All  I can  say  is, 
that  you  are  most  welcome,  Mr.  Furlong,  to  the  hospitality 
of  this  house  as  long  as  you  please. ” 

u But,  sir,  you  should  not  have  allowed  me  to  wemain  in 
you*  house,”  said  Furlong. 

“ That's  a doctrine, 99  said  the  Squire,  “ in  which  you 
Will  find  it  difficult  to  make  an  Irish  host  coincide. 99 

“ But  you  must  have  known,  sir,  that  it  was  not  my  in- 
tention to  come  to  your  house.  ” 

“ How  could  I know  that,  sir?"  said  the  Squire,  jocu- 
larly. 

“ Why,  Miste'  Wegan — you  know — that  is — in  fact— 
confound  it,  sir!”  said  Furlong,  at  last,  losing  his  temper, 
“ you  know  I told  you  all  about  our  electioneering  tactics.” 
A loud  laugh  was  all  the  response  Furlong  received  to 
this  outbreak. 

“ Well,  sir,”  repeated,  he,  “ I pwotest  it  is  extwemely 

unfair.  ” 

“ You  know,  my  dear  sir,”  said  Dick,  “ we  Irish  are 
such  poor  ignorant  creatures , according  to  your  own  ac- 
count, that  we  can  make  no  use  of  the  knowledge  with 
which  you  have  so  generously  supplied  us.” 

iC  You  know,”  said  the  Squire,  “ we  have  no  real 
finesse. 9 9 

“ Sir,”  said  Furlong,  growing  sulky,  “ there  is  a certain 
finesse  that  is  fair,  and  another  that  is  unfair — and  I 
pwotest  against — 99  $ 

“ Pooh,  pooh!”  said  Murphy.  cc  Never  mind  trifles. 
Just  wait  till  to-morrow,  and  J HI  show  you  even  better 
salmon-fishing  than  you  had  to-day, 99 


BAHDY  AKDT.  142 

w Sir,  no  consideration  would  make  me  wemain  anotheJ 
wower  in  this  house.  ” 

Murphy  screwed  his  lips  together,  puffed  out  something 
between  a whistle  and  the  blowing  out  of  a candle,  and 
ventured  to  suggest  to  Furlong  he  had  better  wait  even  a 
couple  of  hours,  till  he  had  got  his  allowance  of  claret. 
£C  Eemember  the  adage,  sir,  4 In  vino  veritas / and  weTl 
tell  you  all  our  electioneering  secrets  after  we^ve  had 
enough  wine.”” 

“ As  soon,  Miste*  Wegan,”  said  Mr.  Furlong,  quite 
chap-fallen,  “ as  you  can  tell  me  how  I can  get  to  the 
house  to  which  I intended  to  go,  I will  be  weddy  to  bid  you 
good-evening.” 

“ If  you  are  determined,  Mr.  Furlong,  to  remain  here 
no  longer,  I shall  not  press  my  hospitality  upon  you;  when- 
ever you  decide  upon  going,  my  carriage  shall  be  at  your 
service.” 

“ The  soone*  the  bette*,  sir,”  said  Furlong,  retreating 
etill  further  into  a cold  and  sulky  manner. 

The  Squire  made  no  further  attempt  to  conciliate  him; 
he  merely  said,  “ Dick,  ring  the  bell.  Pass  the  claret, 
Murphy.  ” 

The  bell  was  rung — the  claret  passed — a servant  entered, 
and  orders  were  given  by  the  Squire  that  the  carriage 
should  be  at  the  door  as  soon  as  possible.  In  the  interim, 
Dick  Dawson,  the  Squire,  and  Murphy,  laughed  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened,  and  Mrs.  Egan  conversed  in  an  under- 
tone with  Mr.  Bermingham.  Fanny  looked  mischievous, 
and  Furlong  kept  his  hand  on  the  foot  of  his  glass,  and 
shoved  it  about  something  in  the  fashion  of  an  uncertain 
chess-player,  who  does  not  know  where  to  put  the  piece  on 
which  he  has  laid  his  finger. 

The  carriage  was  soon  announced,  and  Mrs.  Egan,  as 
Furlong  seemed  so  anxious  to  go,  rose  from  table;  and  as 
she  retired,  he  made  her  a cold  and  formal  bow.  He  at- 
tempted a tender  look  and  soft  word  to  Fanny- — for  Fur- 
long, who  thought  himself  a beau  garpon,  had  been  play- 
ing off  his  attractions  upon  her  all  day,  but  the  mischiev- 
ously merry  Fanny  Dawson,  when  she  caught  the  sheepish 
eye,  and  heard  the  mumbled  gallantry  of  the  Castle 
Adonis,  could  not  resist  a titter,  which  obliged  her  to  hide 
her  dimpling  cheek  and  pearly  teeth  in  her  handkerchief 
as  she  passed  to  the  door.  The  ladies  being  gone,  the 


148 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Squire  asked  Furlong,  would  he  not  have  some  more  wine 
before  he  went. 

“ No,  thank  you,  Miste'  Wegan,”  replied  he,  “ after 
being  twicked  in  the  manner  that  a — ” 

“ Mr.  Furlong,”  said  the  Squire,  “you  have  said  quite 
enough  about  that.  When  you  came  into  my  house  last 
night,  sir,  1 had  no  intention  of  practicing  any  joke  upon 
you.  You  should  have  had  the  hospitality  of  an  Irishman's 
nouse,  without  the  consequence  that  has  followed,  had  you 
not  indulged  in  sneering  at  the  Irishman's  country,  which, 
to  your  shame  be  it  spoken,  is  your  own . You  vaunted 
your  own  superior  intelligence  and  finesse  over  us,  sir;  and 
told  us  you  came  down  to  overthrow  poor  Pat  in  the  trick- 
ery of  electioneering  movements.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, sir,  I think  what  we  have  done  is  quite  fair.  We 
have  shown  you  that  you  are  no  match  for  us  in  the  finesse 
upon  which  you  pride  yourself  so  much;  and  the  next  time 
^ .u  talk  of  your  countrymen,  and  attempt  to  undervalue 
them,  just  remember  how  you  have  been  outwitted  at 
Merryvale  House.  Good-evening,  Mr.  Furlong,  I hope  we 
part  without  owing  each  other  any  ill-will.  " The  Squire 
offered  his  hand,  but  Furlong  drew  up,  and  amidst  such 
expletives  as  “ weally,”  and  “ I must  say,”  he  at  last 
made  use  of  the  word  “ atwocious.'' 

“ What's  that  you  say?”  said  Dick.  “ You  don't  speak 
very  plain,  and  I'd  like  to  be  sure  of  the  last  word  you 
used.” 

“ I mean  to  say  that  a — ” and  Furlong,  not  much  lik- 
ing the  tone  of  Dick's  question,  was  humming,  and  hawing 
a sort  of  explanation  of  what  “ he  meant  to  say,"  when 
Dick  thus  interrupted  him — 

“ I tell  you  this,  Mr.  Furlong:  all  that  has  been  done  is 
my  doing — I've  humbugged  you,  sir — humbugged . I've 
sold  you — dead.  I've  pumped  you,  sir — all  your  elec- 

tioneering bag  of  tricks,  bribery  and  all,  exposed;  and  now 
go  off  to  O'Grady,  and  tell  him  hew  the  poor  ignorant  Irish 
have  done  you;  and  see,  Mr.  Furlong,”  in  a quiet  under- 
tone, “ if  there's  anything  that  either  he  or  you  don't  like 
about  the  business,  you  shall  have  any  satisfaction  you  like, 
and  as  often  as  you  please." 

“ I shall  conside ' of  that,  sir,"  said  Furlong,  as  he  left 
the  house,  and  entered  the  carriage,  where  he  threw  him- 
self back  in  offended  dignity,  and  soliloquized  vows  of  venge- 


SANDY  AN»Y. 


149 


ance.  But  the  bumping  of  the  carriage  over  a rough 
road  disturbed  the  pleasing  reveries  of  revenge,  to  awaken 
him  to  the  more  probable  and  less  agreeable  consequences 
likely  to  occur  to  himself  for  the  blunder  he  had  made; 
for,  with  all  the  puppy's  self-sufficiency  and  conceit,  he 
could  not  by  any  process  of  mental  delusion  conceal  from 
himself  the  fact  that  he  had  been  most  tremendously  done , 
and  how  his  party  would  take  it  was  a serious  considera- 
tion. O'Grady,  another  horrid  Irish  squire — how  should 
he  face  him  ? For  a moment  he  thought  it  better  to  go 
back  to  Dublin,  and  he  pulled  the  check-string — the  car- 
riage stopped — down  went  the  front  glass.  6 6 1 say,  coach- 
man. " 

“ I'm  not  the  coachman,  sir." 

“ Well,  whoever  you  are — " 

“ I'm  the  groom  only,  sir;  for  the  coachman  was — " 

“ Sir,  I don't  want  to  know  who  you  are,  or  about  your 
affairs;  I want  you  to  listen  to  me — eawn’t  you  listen?" 

“ Yes,  sir." 

“ Well,  then — dwive  to  the  village. " 

€C  I thought  it  was  to  the  Hall  I was  to  dhrive,  sir." 

€C  Do  what  you're  told,  sir— the  village!" 

“ What  village,  sir?'*  asked  Mat,  the  groom,  who  knew 
well  enough,  but  for  Furlong's  impertinence  did  not  choose 
to  understand  anything  gratuitously. 

“ Why  the  village  I came  from  yeste'day." 

“ What  village  was  that,  sir?" 

“ How  stoopid  you  are!  the  village  the  mail  goes  to." 

“ Sure  the  mail  goes  to  all  the  villages  in  Ireland,  sir." 

“ You  pwovoking  blockhead!  Good  Heavens,  how 
stoopid  you  I wish  are!  the  village  that  leads  to  Dublin." 

“ Faith  they  all  lead  to  Dublin,  sir." 

‘ 6 Confound  you — you  must  know!  the  posting  village, 
you  know — that  is,  not  the  post  town,  if  you  know  what  a 
post  town  is. " 

“To  be  sure  I do,  sir — where  they  sell  blankets,  you 
Inane. 99 

“ No — no — no!  I want  to  go  to  the  village  where  they 
keep  post-chaises — now  you  know." 

“ Faix,  they  have  po'chayses  in  all  the  villages  here; 
there's  no  better  accommodation  for  man  or  baste  in  the 
World  than  here,  sir. " 

Furlong  was  mute  from  downright  vexation,  till  his  rage 


ISO  Sandy  ANDt. 

got  vent  in  an  oath,  another  denunciation  of  Irish  stupid? 
Ity,  and  at  last  a declaration  that  the  driver  must  know  the 
Village. 

44  How  would  I know  it,  sir,  when  you  don’t  know  it 
yourself?”  asked  the  groom;  4*  I suppose  it  has  a name  to 
it,  and  if  you  tell  me  that.  I’ll  dhrive  you  there  fast 
enough.” 

44  I can  not  wemember  your  howwid  names  here — it  is  a 
Bal,  or  Bally,  or  some  such  gibbewish — ” 

Mat  would  not  be  enlightened. 

44  Is  there  not  Bal  or  Bally  something?” 

44  Oh,  a power  o’  Bailies,  sir;  there’s  Ballygash,  and 
Ballyslash,  and  Ballysmish,  and  Ballysmash,  and — ” so 
went  on  Mat,  inventing  a string  of  Bailies,  till  he  was 
stopped  by  the  enraged  Furlong. 

44  None  o’  them!  none  o’  them!”  exclaimed  he,  in  a 
fury;  44  ’tis  something  about  4 dirt,’  or  * mud.’  ” 

44  Maybe  ’twould  be  gutther , sir,”  said  Mat,  who  saw 
Furlong  was  near  the  mark,  and  he  thought  he  might  as 
well  make  a virtue  of  telling  him. 

44  I believe  you’re  right,”  said  Furlong. 

44  Then  it  is  Ballysloughgutthery  you  want  to  go  to,  sir.” 
44  That’s  the  name!”  said  Furlong,  snappishly;  44  dwive 
there  /”  and,  hastily  pulling  up  the  glass,  he  threw  him- 
self back  again  in  the  carriage.  Another  troubled  vision 
of  what  the  secretary  would  say  came  across  him,  and, 
after  ten  minutes’  balancing  the  question,  and  trembling 
at  the  thoughts  of  an  official  blowing  up,  he  thought  he 
had  better  even  venture  on  an  Irish  squire,  so  the  check- 
string was  again  pulled,  and  the  glass  hastily  let  down. 

Mat  halted.  46  Yes,  sir,”  said  Mat. 

44  I think  I’ve  changed  my  mind — dwive  to  the  Hall!” 

44  I wish  you  towld  me,  sir,  before  I took  the  last  turn — 
we’re  nigh  a mile  toward  the  village  now.” 

44  No  matte’,  sir!”  said  Furlong;  44  dwive  where  I tell 
you.” 

Up  went  the  glass  again,  and  Mat  turned  round  the 
horses  and  carriage  with  some  difficulty  in  a narrow  by 
road. 

Another  vision  came  across  the  bewildered  fancy  of  Fur- 
long; the  certainty  of  the  fury  of  O’Grady — the  immediate 
contempt  as  well  as  anger  attendant  on  his  being  bam- 
boozled— and  the  result  at  last  being  the  same  in  drawing 


HANDY  ANDY. 


151 


down  the  secretary’s  anger.  This  produced  another 
change  of  intention,  and  he  let  down  the  glass  for  the  third 
time — once  more  changed  his  orders  as  concisely  as  possi- 
ble, and  pulled  it  up  again.  All  this  time  Mat  was  laugh-* 
ing  internally  at  the  bewilderment  of  the  stranger,  and  as 
he  turned  round  the  carriage  again  he  muttered  to  himself, 
44  By  this  and  that,  you’re  as  hard  to  dhrive  as  a pig;  for 
you’ll  neither  go  one  road  nor  th’  other.  ” He  had  not 
proceeded  far,  when  Furlong  determined  to  face  O’ Grady 
instead  of  the  Castle,  and  the  last  and  final  order  for 
another  turn  about  was  given.  Mat  hardly  suppressed  an 
oath;  but  respect  for  his  master  stopped  him.  The  glass 
of  the  carriage  was  not  pulled  up  this  time,  and  Mat  was 
asked  a few  questions  about  the  Hall,  and  at  last  about  the 
Squire.  Now  Mat  had  acuteness  enough  to  fathom  the 
cause  of  Furlong’s  indecision,  and  determined  to  make  him 
as  unhappy  as  he  could;  therefore  to  the  question  of 
“ What  sort  of  a man  the  Squire  was?”  Mat  re-echoing 
the  question,  replied — 4 4 What  sort  of  a man,  sir? — Faith, 
he’s  not  a man  at  all,  sir;  he’s  the  devil.” 

Furlong  pulled  up  the  glass,  and  employed  the  interval 
between  Mat’s  answer  and  reaching  the  Hall  in  making  up 
his  mind  as  to  how  he  should  44  face  the  devil.  ” 

The  carriage,  after  jolting  for  some  time  over  a rough 
road  skirted  by  a high  and  ruinous  wall,  stopped  before  a 
gateway  that  had  once  been  handsome,  and  Furlong  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  a most  thundering  bell,  which  the 
vigorous  pull  of  Mat  stimulated  to  its  utmost  pitch;  the 
baying  of  dogs  which  followed  was  terrific.  A savage- 
looking gatekeeper  made  his  appearance  with  a light — not 
in  a lantern,  but  shaded  with  his  tattered  hat;  many  ques- 
tions and  answers  ensued,  and  at  last  the  gate  was  opened. 
The  carriage  proceeded  up  a very  ragged  avenue,  stopped 
before  a large  rambling  sort  of  building,  which  even  moon- 
light could  exhibit  to  be  very  much  out  of  repair,  and  after 
repeated  knocking  at  the  door  (for  Mat  knew  his  Squire 
and  the  other  Squire  were  not  friends  now,  and  that  he 
might  be  impudent),  the  door  was  unchained  and  unbarred, 
and  Furlong*  deposited  in  Neck-or  mothing  Had. 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Such  is  the  custom  of  Brauksome  Hall. 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

NECK-OR-NOTHING  HALL. 

CANTO  I. 

Ten  good  nights  and  ten  good  days 
It  would  take  to  tell  thy  ways, 

Various,  many,  and  amazing: 

Neck-or-nothing  bangs  all  praising. 

Wonders  great  and  wonders  small 
Are  found  in  Neck-or-nothing  Hall. 

Racing  rascals  of  ten  a twain, 

Who  care  not  a rush  for  hail  nor  rain, 

Messages  swiftly  to  go  or  to  come, 

Or  duck  a taxman  or  harry  a bum,* 

Or  “ clip  a server/’  f did  blithely  lie 
In  the  stable  parlor  next  to  the  sky 4 
Dinner,  save  chance  ones,  seldom  had  they. 

Unless  they  could  nibble  their  beds  of  liay; 

But  the  less  they  got,  they  were  hardier  all— 

'Twas  the  custom  of  Neck-or-nothing  Hall. 

One  lord  there  sat  in  that  terrible  hall; 

Two  ladies  came  at  his  terrible  call— 

One  his  mother  and  one  his  wife, 

Each  afraid  of  her  separate  life; 

Three  girls  who  trembled— four  boys  who  shook 
Five  times  a day  at  his  lowering  lcok, 

Six  blunderbusses  in  goodly  show, 

Seven  horse-pistols  were  ranged  below, 

Eight  domestics,  great  and  small, 

In  idlesse  did  nothing  but  curse  them  all; 

Nine  state  beds,  where  no  one  slept — 

Ten  for  family  use  were  kept; 

Dogs  eleven  with  bums  to  make  free, 

With  a bold  thirteen  § in  the  treasury— 

* A facetious  phrase  for  bailiff,  so  often  kicked, 

\ Cutting  off  the  ears  of  a process-server. 

X Hayloft. 

§ A shilling,  so  called  from  its  being  worth  thirteen  pence  in 
those  days. 


HAHDY  AtfDY. 


m 


% 


(Such  its  numerical  strength,  I guess 
It  can’t  be  more,  but  it  may  be  less). 

Tar  barrels  new  and  feathers  old 
Are  ready,  I trow,  for  the  caitiff  bold 
W ho  dares  to  invade 
The  stormy  shade 
Of  the  grim  O’Grade, 

In  his  hunting  hold. 

When  the  iron  tougue  of  the  old  gate  bell 
Doth  summon  the  growling  grooms  from  cell. 

Through  cranny  and  crook 
They  peer  and  they  look, 

With  guns  to  send  the  intruders  to  heaven.* 

But  when  passwords  pass 

That  might  “serve  a mass,”  f 

Then  bars  are  drawn  and  chains  let  fall. 

And  you  get  into  Neck-or  nothing  Hall.  . 

CANTO  II. 

And  never  a doubt 
But  when  you  are  in, 

If  you  love  a whole  skin, 

I’ll  wager  (and  win) 

You’ll  be  glad  to  get  out. 

Dr.  Growling' s Metrical  Romance. 

The  bird's-eye  view  which  the  doctor's  peep  from  Par- 
hassus  has  afforded,  may  furnish  the  imagination  of  the 
reader  with  materials  to  create  in  his  own  mind  a vague  yet 
hot  unjust  notion  of  Neck-or-nothing  Hall;  but  certain 
details  of  the  Hall  itself,  its  inmates  and  its  customs,  may 
be  desired  by  the  matter-of-fact  reader  or  the  more  min- 
utely curious,  and  as  the  author  has  the  difficult  task  be- 
fore him  of  trying  to  please  all  tastes,  something  more  defi- 
nite is  required. 

The  Hall  itself  was,  as  we  have  said,  a rambling  sort  of 
structure.  Ramifying  from  a solid  center,  which  gave  the 
notion  of  a founder  well  to  do  in  the  world,  additions, 
without  any  architectural  pretensions  to  fitness,  were  stuck 
on  here  and  there,  as  whim  or  necessity  suggested  or  de- 
manded, and  a most  incongruous  mass  of  gables,  roofs,  and 
chimneys,  odd  windows  and  blank  walls,  was  the  conse- 
quence, According  to  the  circumstances  of  the  occupants 


* This  is  not  the  word  in  the  MS. 

/ f Serving  mass  occupies  about  twenty-five  minutes. 


151 


lIAHBT  AHf>¥. 


who  inherited  the  property,  the  building  was  either  in- 
creased or  neglected.  A certain  old  bachelor,  for  example, 
who  in  the  course  of  events  inherited  the  property,  had  no 
necessity  for  nurses,  nursery-maids,  and  their  consequent 
suite  of  apartments;  and  as  he  never  aspired  to  the  honor 
of  matrimony,  the  bathroom,  the  drawing-room,  and  extra 
bed-chambers  were  neglected;  but  being  a fox-hunter,  a 
new  kennel  and  range  of  stables  were  built,  the  dining- 
room enlarged,  and  all  the  ready  money  he  could  get  at 
spent  in  augmenting  the  plate,  to  keep  pace  with  the  rac- 
ing-cups he  won,  and  proudly  displayed  at  his  drinking- 
bouts;  and  when  he  died  suddenly  (broke  his  neck),  the 
plate  was  seized  at  the  suit  of  his  wine-merchant;  and  as 
the  heir  next  in  succession  got  the  property  in  a ruinous 
condition,  it  was  impossible  to  keep  a stud  of  horses  along 
with  a wife  and  a large  family,  so  the  stables  and  kennel 
went  to  decay,  while  the  ladies*  and  family  apartments  could 
only  be  patched  up.  When  the  house  was  dilapidated,  the 
grounds  about  it,  of  course,  were  ill  kept.  Fine  old  trees 
were  there,  originally  intended  to  afford  shade  to  walks 
which  were  so  neglected  as  to  be  no  more  walkable  than 
any  other  part  of  the  grounds — the  vista  of  aspiring  stems 
indicated  where  an  avenue  had  been,  but  neither  hoe  nor 
rolling-stone  had,  for  many  a year,  checked  the  growth  of 
grass  or  w^ed.  So  much  for  the  outside  of  the  house;  now 
for  the  inside. 

That  had  witnessed  many  a thoughtless,  expensive,  head- 
long and  irascible  master,  but  never  one  more  so  than  the 

E resent  owner;  added  to  which,  he  had  the  misfortune  of 
eing  unpopular.  Other  men,  thoughtless,  and  headlong, 
and  irritable  as  he,  have  lived  and  had  friends;  but  there 
was  something  about  0*Grady  that  was  felt,  perhaps,  more 
than  it  could  be  defined,  which  made  him  unpleasing — 
perhaps  the  homely  phrase  “cross-grained**  may  best 
express  it,  and  0*Grady  was  essentially  a cross-grained 
man.  The  estate,  when  he  got  it,  was  pretty  heavily  sad- 
dled, and  the  “ galled  jade  **  did  not  “ wince  **  the  less 
for  his  riding. 

A good  jointure  to  his  mother  was  chargeable  on  the 
property,  and  this  was  an  excuse  on  all  occasions  for  the 
Squire*s  dilatory  payment  in  other  quarters.  “ Sir,**  he 
Would  say,  “ my  mother* s jointure  is  sacred — it  is  more 
than  the  estate  can  well  bear,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  a sacred 


fiAKDY  AKBt. 


l&S 


claim,  and  I would  sooner  sacrifice  my  life,  my  honor , sir, 
than  see  that  claim  neglected!'*  Now  all  this  sounded 
mighty  fine,  but  his  mother  could  never  see  her  jointure 
regularly  paid,  and  was  obliged  to  live  in  the  house  with 
him:  she  was  somewhat  of  an  oddity , and  had  apartments 
to  herself,  and,  as  long  as  she  was  let  alone,  and  allowed  to 
read  romances  in  quiet,  did  not  complain;  and  whenever  a 
stray  ten-pound  note  did  fall  into  her  hands,  she  gave  the 
greater  part  of  it  to  her  younger  granddaughter,  who  was 
fond  of  flowers  and  plants,  and  supported  a little  conserv- 
atory on  her  grandmother's  bounty,  she  paying  the  tribute, 
of  a bouquet  to  the  old  lady  when  the  state  of  her  botanical 
prosperity  could  afford  it.  The  eldest  girl  was  a favorite 
of  an  uncle,  and  her  passion  being  dogs,  all  the  presents 
her  uncle  made  her  in  money  were  converted  into  canine 
curiosities;  while  the  youngest  girl  took  an  interest  in  the 
rearing  of  poultry.  Now  the  boys,  varying  in  age  from 
eight  to  fourteen,  had  their  separate  favorites  too — one 
loved  bull-dogs  and  terriers,  another  game-cocks,  the  third 
ferrets,  and  the  fourth  rabbits  and  pigeons.  These  multi- 
farious tastes  produced  strange  results.  In  the  house, 
flowers  and  plants,  indicating  refinement  of  taste  and  cost- 
liness, were  strongly  contrasted  with  broken  plaster,  soiled, 
hangings,  and  faded  paint;  an  expensive  dog  might  be 
seen  lapping  cream  out  of  a shabby  broken  plate;  a never- 
ending  sequence  of  wars  raged  among  the  dependent  favor- 
ites, the  bull-dogs  and  terriers  chopping  up  the  ferrets,  the 
ferrets  killing  the  game-cocks,  the  game-cocks  killing  the 
tame  poultry  and  rabbits,  and  the  rabbits  destroying  the 
garden,  assisted  by  the  flying  reserve  of  pigeons.  It  was 
a sort  of  Irish  retaliation,  so  amusingly  exemplified  in  the 
nursery  jingle: 

The  water  began  to  quench  the  fire, 

The  fire  began  to  burn  the  stick, 

The  stick  began  to  beat  the  dog, 

The  dog  began  to  bite  the  kid. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  distinct  and  clashing  tastes,  that 
of  Mrs.  O'Grady  (the  wife)  must  not  be  forgotten;  her 
weak  point  was  a feather-bed.  Good  soul!  anxious  that 
whoever  slept  under  her  roof  should  lie  softly,  she  would 
go  to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  county  to  secure  an  accesT 
sion  to  her  favorite  property — and  such  a collection  of  lux-? 


156 


HANDY  ANDlf. 


urious  feather-beds  never  was  seen  in  company  with  such 
rickety  bedsteads  and  tattered  and  mildewed  curtains,  in 
rooms  uncarpeted,  whose  paper  was  dropping  off  the  wall, 
— well  might  it  be  called  paper-hanging  indeed! — whose 
washing-tables  were  of  deal,  and  whose  delf  was  of  the 
plainest  ware,  and  even  that  minus  sundry  handles  and 
spouts.  Nor  was  the  renowned  O'  Grady  without  his  hob- 
by, too.  While  the  various  members  of  his  family  were 
thwarting  each  other,  his  master-mischief  was  thwarting 
them  all;  like  some  wicked  giant  looking  down  on  a squab- 
ble of  dwarfs,  and  ending  the  fight  by  kicking  them  all 
right  and  left.  Then  he  had  his  troop  of  pets  too — idle 
blackguards  who  were  slingeing*  about  the  place  eternally, 
keeping  up  a sort  of  lt  cordon  sanitaire,"  to  prevent  the 
pestilential  presence  of  a bailiff,  which  is  so  catching,  and 
turns  to  jail  fever,  a disease  which  had  been  fatal  in  the 
family.  O'Grady  never  ventured  beyond  his  domain  ex- 
cept on  the  back  of  a fleet  horse — there  he  felt  secure;  in- 
deed, the  place  he  most  dreaded  legal  assault  in  was  his 
own  house,  where  he  apprehended  trickery  might  invade 
him:  a carriage  might  be  but  a feint,  and  hence  the  great 
circumspection  in  the  opening  of  doors. 

From  the  nature  of  the  establishment,  thus  hastily 
sketched,  the  reader  will  see  what  an  ill- regulated  jumble 
it  was.  The  master,  in  difficulties,  had  disorderly  people 
hanging  about  his  place  for  his  personal  security;  from 
these  very  people  his  boys  picked  up  the  love  of  dog-fights, 
cock-fights,  etc. ; and  they,  from  the  fights  of  their  pets, 
fought  amongst  themselves,  and  were  always  fighting  with 
their  sisters;  so  the  reader  will  see  the  “ metrical  ro- 
mance " was  not  overcharged  in  its  rhymes  on  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hall. 

When  Furlong  entered  the  hall,  he  gave  his  name  to  a 
queer-looking  servant  with  wild  scrubby  hair,  a dirty  face, 
a tawdry  livery,  worse  for  wear,  which  had  manifestly  been 
made  for  a larger  man,  and  hung  upon  its  present  posses* 
sor  like  a coat  upon  a clothes-horse;  his  cotton  stockings, 
meant  to  be  white,  and  clumsy  shoes,  meant  to  be  black, 
met  each  other  half-way,  and  split  the  difference  in  a pleas* 
ing  neutral  tint.  Leaving  Furlong  standing  in  the  hall, 
he  clattered  upstairs,  and  a dialogue  ensued  between  masr. 

* An  Hibernicism,  expressive  of  lounging  laziness. 


HANDY  A^DY. 


157 


ter  and  man  so  loud  that  Furlong  could  hear  the  half  of  it, 
and  his  own  name  in  a tone  of  doubt,  with  that  of  ‘ c Egan/' 
in  a tone  of  surprise,  and  that  of  his  “ sable  majesty ” in 
a tone  of  auger,  rapidly  succeeded  one  another;  then  such 
broken  words  and  sentences  as  these  ensued — “ fudge  !— 
humbug! — rascally  trick! — eh! — by  the  hokey,  they’d  bet- 
ter take  care! — put  the  scoundrel  under  the  pump!” 

Furlong  more  than  half  suspected  it  was  to  him  this  del- 
icate attention  was  intended,  and  began  to  feel  uncomfort- 
able: he  sharpened  his  ears  to  their  keenest  hearing,  but 
there  was  a lull  in  the  conversation,  and  he  could  ascertain 
one  of  the  gentler  sex  was  engaged  in  it  by  the  ogre-like 
voice  uttering,  66  Fudge,  woman! — fiddle-de-dee!”  Then 
he  caught  the  words,  66  perhaps,”  and  “ gentleman,”  in  a 
lady’s  voice;  then  out  thundered  “ rascal’s  carriage!— why 
come  in  that? — friend! — humbug! — rascal’s  carriage! — tar 
and  feather  him,  by  this  and  that!” 

Furlong  began  to  feel  very  uncomfortable;  the  conver- 
sation ended;  down  came  the  servant,  to  whom  Furlong 
was  about  to  address  himself,  when  the  man  said,  “ He 
would  be  with  him  in  a minit,”  and  vanished;  a sort  of 
reconnoitering  party,  one  by  one,  then  passed  through  the 
hall,  eying  the  stranger  very  suspiciously,  any  of  them  to 
whom  Furlong  ventured  a word  scurrying  off  in  double- 
quick  time.  For  an  instant  he  meditated  a retreat,  and, 
looking  to  the  door,  saw  a heavy  chain  across  it,  the  pat- 
tern of  which  must  have  been  had  from  Newgate.  He  at- 
tempted to  unfasten  it,  and  as  it  clanked  heavily,  the  ogre’s 
voice  from  upstairs  bellowed,  “ Who  the  d — 1’s  that  open- 
ing the  door?”  Furlong’s  hand  dropped  from  the  chain, 
and  a low  growling  went  on  up  the  staircase.  The  servant 
whom  he  first  saw  returned. 

“ I fear,”  said  Furlong,  “ there  is  some  misappwehen- 
sion.” 

“ A what,  sir?” 

“ A misappwehension.  ” 

“ Oh,  no,  sir!  it’s  only  a mistake  the  master  thought 
you  might  be  making;  he  thinks  you  mistuk  the  house, 
maybe,  sir?” 

“ Oh,  no — I wather  think  he  mistakes  me.  Will  you 
do  me  the  favo’,”  and  he  produced  a packet  of  papers  as 
he  spoke — “ the  favo’  to  take  my  cwedentials  to  Mr. 
Q’Gwady,  and  if  he  throws  his  eye  over  these  pape’s — " 


158 


HAKDY  AHDY. 


At  the  word  “ papers,"  there  was  a shout  from  above, 
cl  Don't  touch  them,  you  thief,  don't  touch  them!— 
another  blister — ha!  ha!  By  the  Vernal  this  and  that,  FI] 
have  him  in  the  horse-pond!"  A heavy  stamping  overhead 
ensued,  and  furious  ringing  of  bells;  in  the  midst  of  the 
din,  a very  pale  lady  came  down-stairs,  and  pointing  the 
way  to  a small  room,  beckoned  Furlong  to  follow  her.  For 
a moment  he  hesitated,  for  his  heart  misgave  him;  but 
shame  at  the  thought  of  doubting  or  refusing  the  sum-: 
mons  of  a lady  overcame  his  fear,  and  he  followed  to  a lit** 
tie  parlor,  where  mutual  explanations  between  Mrs. 
O' Grady  and  himself,  and  many  messages,  questions,  and 
answers,  which  she  carried  up  and  down-stairs,  at  length, 
set  Furlong's  mind  at  ease  respecting  his  personal  safety, 
and  finally  admitted  him  into  the  presence  of  the  truculent 
lord  of  the  castle — who,  when  he  heard  that  Furlong  had 
been  staying  in  the  enemy's  camp,  was  not,  it  may  be  sup- 
posed, in  a sweet  temper  to  receive  him.  O' Grady  looked 
thunder  as  Furlong  entered,  and  eying  him  keenly  for 
some  seconds,  as  if  he  were  taking  a mental  as  well  as  an 
ocular  measurement  of  him,  he  saluted  him  with: 

“ Well,  sir,  a pretty  kettle  of  fish  you've  made  of  this. 

I hope  you  have  not  blabbed  much  about  our  affairs?" 

“ Why,  I weally  don't  know — I'm  not  sure — that  is,  I 
won't  be  positive,  because  when  one  is  thwown  off  his 
guard,  you  know — ' ' 

“ Pooh,  sir!  a man  should  never  be  off  his  guard  in  an 
election.  But  how  the  d — 1,  sir,  could  you  make  such  a 
thundering  mistake  as  to  go  to  the  wrong  house?' 

“ It  was  a liowwid  postilion,  Miste'  O'Gwady." 

“ The  scoundrel!"  exclaimed  O' Grady,  stamping  up  and 
down  the  room. 

At  this  moment,  a tremendous  crash  was  heard;  the 
ladies  jumped  from  their  seats;  O'Grady  paused  in  his 
rage,  and  his  poor,  pale  wife  exclaimed: 

“ 'Tis  in  the  conservatory. " 

A universal  rush  was  now  made  to  the  spot,  and  there 
was  Handy  Andy,  buried  in  the  ruins  of  flower-pots  and 
exotics,  directly  under  an  enormous  breach  in  the  glass 
roof  of  the  building.  How  this  occurred  a few  words  will 
explain.  Andy,  when  he  went  to  sleep  in  the  justice-room, 
slept  soundly  for  some  hours,  but  awoke  in  the  horrors  of 
a dream,  in  which  he  fancied  he  was  about  to  be  hanged* 


HANDY  ANDY. 


159 


So  impressed  was  he  by  the  vision,  that  he  determined  on 
making  his  escape  if  he  could,  and  tQ  this  end  piled  the 
chair  upon  the  desk,  and  the  volumes  of  law  books  on  the 
chair,  and,  being  an  active  fellow,  contrived  to  scramble  up 
high  enough  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  frame  of  the  skylight, 
and  thus  make  his  way  out  on  the  roof.  Then  walking, 
as  well  as  the  darkness  would  permit  him,  along  the  coping 
of  the  wall,  he  approached,  as  it  chanced,  the  conservatory; 
but  the  coping  being  loose,  one  of  the  flags  turned  under 
Andy's  foot,  and  bang  he  went  through  the  glass  roof, 
carrying  down  in  his  fall  some  score  of  flower-pots,  and 
finally  stuck  in  a tub,  with  his  legs  upward,  and  embowered 
in  the  branches  of  crushed  geraniums  and  hydrangeas. 

He  was  dragged  out  of  the  tub,  amidst  a shower  of  curses 
from  O'Grady;  but  the  moment  Andy  recovered  the  few 
senses  he  had,  and  saw  Furlong,  regardless  of  the  anathe- 
mas of  the  Squire,  he  shouted  out,  46  There  he  is!  there  he 
is!"  and  rushing  toward  him,  exclaimed,  44  Now,  did  ] 
dhrowned  you,  sir,  did  I?  Sure,  I never  murdhered  you!" 

'Twas  as  much  as  could  be  done  to  keep  O'Grady'r 
hands  off  Andy,  for  smashing  the  conservatory,  when  Fur- 
long's presence  made  him  no  longer  liable  to  imprisonment. 

44  Maybe  he  has  a vote,"  said  Furlong,  anxious  to  dis- 
play how  much  he  was  on  the  qui  vive  in  election  matter* 

44  Have  you  a vote,  you  rascal?" 

“You  may  sarche  me  if  you  like,  your  honor,"  said 
Andy,  who  thought  a vote  was  some  sort  of  property  he 
was  suspected  of  stealing. 

44  You  are  either  the  biggest  rogue  or  the  biggest  fool  I 
ever  met,"  said  O' Grady.  44  Which  are  you  now?" 

44  Whichever  your  honor  plazes,"  said  Andy. 

44  If  I forgive  you,  will  you  stand  by  meat  the  election?" 

44  I'll  stand  anywhere  your  honor  bids  me,"  said  Andy 
humbly. 

44  That's  a thorough-going  rogue,  I'm  inclined  to  think," 
said  O' Grady,  aside,  to  Furlong. 

44  He  looks  more  like  a fool  in  my  appwehension,"  was 
the  reply. 

44  Oh,  these  fellows  conceal  the  deepest  roguery  some- 
times under  an  assumed  simplicity.  You  don't  understand 
the  Irish." 

44  Und 'stand!"  exclaimed  Furlong;  44 1 pwonounce  the 
Whole  countwy  quite  incomp wetiensible  I" 


160 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Well!”  growled  0’Grady  to  Andy,  after  a moment’s 
consideration,  “ go  down  to  the  kitchen,  you  house-break- 
ing vagabond,  and  get  your  supper!” 

Now,  considering  the  “ fee,  faw,  fum”  qualities  of 
O’Grady,  the  reader  may  be  surprised  at  the  easy  manner 
in  which  Andy  slipped  through  his  fingers,  after  having 
slipped  through  the  roof  of  his  conservatory;  but  as  be- 
tween two  stools  folks  fall  to  the  ground,  so  between  two 
rages  people  sometimes  tumble  into  safety.  O’ Grady  was 
in  a divided  passion — first  his  wrath  was  excited  against 
Furlong  for  his  blunder,  and  just  as  that  was  about  to  ex- 
plode, the  crash  of  Andy’s  sudden  appearance  amidst  the 
flower- pots  (like  a practical  parody  on  “ Love  among  the 
roses  ”)  called  off  the  gathering  storm  in  a new  direction, 
and  the  fury  sufficient  to  annihilate  one  was,  by  dispersion, 
harmless  to  two.  But  on  the  return  of  the  party  from  the 
conservatory,  after  Andy’s  descent  to  the  kitchen,  O’Grady’s 
rage  against  Furlong,  though  moderated,  had  settled  down 
into  a very  substantial  dissatisfaction,  ‘which  he  evinced  by 
poking  his  nose  between  his  forefinger  and  thumb,  as  if  he 
meditated  the  abstraction  of  that  salient  feature  from  his 
face,  shuffling  his  feet  about,  throwing  his  right  leg  over 
his  left  knee,  and  then  suddenly,  as  if  that  were  a mistake, 
throwing  his  left  over  the  right,  thrumming  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair  with  his  clinched  hand,  inhaling  the  air  very 
audibly  through  his  protruded  lips,  as  if  he  were  supping 
hot  soup,  and  all  the  time  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  fire  with  a 
portentous  gaze,  as  if  he  would  have  evoked  from  it  a 
salamander. 

Mrs.  O’ Grady  in  such  a state  of  affairs,  wishing  to  speak 
to  the  stranger,  yet  anxious  she  should  say  nothing  that 
could  bear  upon  immediate  circumstances  lest  she  might 
rouse  her  awful  lord  and  master,  racked  her  invention  for 
what  she  should  say;  and  at  last,  with  “ bated  breath” 
and  a very  worn-out  smile,  faltered  forth — • 

“ Pray,  Mr.  Furlong,  are  you  fond  of  shuttlecock?” 
Furlong  stared,  and  began  a reply  of  “ Weally,  I cazvnt 
say  that — ” 

When  O’  Grady  gruffly  broke  in  with,  “ You’d  better  ask 
him,  does  he  love  teetotum.” 

“ I thought  you  could  recommend  me  the  best  establish- 
ment in  the  metropolis,  Mr.  Furlong,  for  buying  shuttle- 
cocks,” continued  the  lady,  unmindful  of  the  interruption* 


f HAtfDY  ANDY.  161 

" You  had  better  ask  him  where  you  can  get  mouse- 
traps/* growled  0*Grady. 

Mrs.  0*  Grady  was  silent,  and  0*Grady,  whose  rage  had 
now  assumed  its  absurd  form  of  tagging  changes,  continued, 
increasing  his  growl,  like  a crescendo  on  the  double-bass, 
as  he  proceeded:  “ You*d  better  ask,  I think — mouse- 
traps— steel-traps  — clap-traps  — rat-traps — rattle-traps  — 
rattle-snakes!** 

Furlong  stared,  Mrs.  0*Grady  was  silent,  and  the  Misses 
0*Grady  cast  fearful  sidelong  glances  at  “ Pa,**  whose 
strange  irritation  always  bespoke  his  not  being  in  what 
good  people  call  a “ sweet  state  of  mind;**  he  laid  hold  of 
a tea-spoon,  and  began  beating  a tattoo  on  the  mantel- 
piece to  a low  smothered  whistle  of  some  very  obscure  tune, 
which  was  suddenly  stopped  to  say  to  Furlong,  very 
abruptly — 

“ So  Egan  diddled  you?*' 

“ Why,  he  certainly,  as  I conceive,  pwacticed,  or  I 
might  say,  in  short — he — a — in  fact — ** 

“ Oh,  yes,**  said  0* Grady,  cutting  short  Furlong *s  hum- 
ming and  hawing;  “ oh,  yes,  I know — diddled  you.** 

Bang  went  the  spoon  again,  keeping  time  with  another 
string  of  nonsense.  “ Diddled  you— diddle,  diddle,  the  cat 
and  the  fiddle,  the  cow  jumped  over  the  moon — who  was 
there?** 

“ A Mister  Dawson.** 

“ Phew!**  ejaculated  0*Grady  with  a doleful  whistle j 
“ Dick  the  Devil!  You  are  in  nice  hands!  All  up  with  us 
— ' up  with  us — • 

Up,  up,  up, 

And  here  we  go  down,  down,  down,  down,  derry  down! 

Oh,  murther!**  and  the  spoon  went  faster  than  before, 
“ Any  one  else?** 

“ Mister  Bermingham.** 

“ Bermingham!**  exclaimed  0*  Grady. 

“ A cle*gyman,  I think,**  drawled  Furlong. 

“ Bermingham!’*  reiterated  0*Grady.  “ What  business 
has  he  there,  and  be  — !**  0*  Grady  swallowed  a curse  when 
he  remembered  he  was  a clergyman.  “ The  enemy *s  camp 
— not  his  principles!  Oh,  Bermingham,  Bermingham^ 
Bnmmagem,  Brummagem,  Sheffield,  Wolverhampton— 
Murther!  Any  one  else?  Was  Durfy  there?** 


162 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ No,"  said  Furlong;  “ but  there  was  an  odd  person, 
whose  name  wymes  to  his — as  you  seem  fond  of  wymes. 
Mister  O'Gwady." 

“ What!"  said  O'Grady,  quickly,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on 
Furlong;  “ Murphy?" 

“ Yes.  Miste'  Muffy." 

O' Grady  gave  a more  doleful  whistle  than  before,  and 
banging  the  spoon  faster  than  ever,  exclaimed  again, 
“ Murphy!  then  IT1  tell  you  what  it  is;  do  you  see  that?" 
and  he  held  up  the  spoon  before  Furlong,  who,  being  asked 
the  same  question  several  times,  confessed  he  did  see  the 
spoon.  “ Then  IT1  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  O' Grady 
again,  “ I wouldn't  give  you  that  for  the  election;''  and, 
with  a disdainful  jerk,  he  threw  the  spoon  into  the  fire, 
after  which  he  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  repose,  while  he  glanced  fiercely  up  at  the 
ceiling,  and  indulged  in  a very  low  ‘whistle  indeed.  One 
of  the  girls  stole  softly  round  to  the  fire  and  gently  took 
up  the  tongs  to  recover  the  spoon;  it  made  a slight  rattle, 
and  her  father  turned  smartly  round,  and  said,  “ Can't 
you  let  the  fire  alone?  there's  coal  enough  on  it;  the  devil 
burn  'em  all — Egan,  Murphy,  and  all  o'  them!  What  do 
you  stand  there  for,  with  the  tongs  in  your  hands,  like  a 
hair-dresser,  or  a stuck  pig?  I tell  you,  I'm  as  hot  as  a 
lime-kiln;  go  out  o'  that." 

The  daughter  retired,  and  the  spoon  was  left  to  its  fate; 
the  ladies  did  not  dare  to  utter  a word;  O'Grady  continued 
his  gaze  on  the  ceiling  and  his  whistle;  and  Furlong,  very 
uncomfortable  and  much  more  astonished,  after  sitting  in 
silence  for  some  time,  thought  a retreat  the  best  move  he 
could  make,  and  intimated  his  wish  to  retire. 

Mrs.  O' Grady  gently  suggested  it  was  yet  early;  which 
Furlong  acknowledged,  but  pleaded  his  extreme  fatigue 
after  a day  of  great  exertion. 

“ I suppose  you  were  canvassing,"  said  O'Grady,  with 
a wicked  grin. 

“ Ce'tainly  not;  they  could  sca'cely  pwesume  on  such  a 
thing  as  that,  I should  think,  in  my  pwesence." 

“ Then  what  fatigued  you?— eh?" 

“ Salmon-fishing,  sir." 

“ What!"  exclaimed  O'Grady,  opening  his  fierce  eyes, 
and  turning  suddenly  round.  “Salmon-fishing!  Where 
the  d— 1 were  you  salmon-fishing?” 


HANDY  ANDY. 


163 


u In  the  wi vef,  close  by  here. 99 

The  ladies  now  all  stared ; but  Furlong  advanced  a vehe- 
ment assurance,  in  answer  to  their  looks  of  wonder,  that 
he  had  taken  some  very  fine  salmon  indeed. 

The  girls  could  not  suppress  their  laughter;  and 
0* Grady,  casting  a look  of  mingled  rage  and  contempt  on 
the  fisherman,  merely  uttered  the  ejaculation,  46  Oh, 
Moses  !"  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair;  but  starting 
up  a moment  after,  he  rang  the  bell  violently.  44  What  do 
you  want,  my  dear?”  said  his  poor  wife,  venturing  to  lift 
her  eyes,  and  speaking  in  the  humblest  tone — 44  what  do 
you  want?” 

44  Some  broiled  bones!”  said  O'Grady,  very  much  like 
an  ogre;  44 1 want  something  to  settle  my  stomach  after 
what  I've  heard,  for,  by  the  powers  of  ipecacuanha,  'tis 
enough  to  make  a horse  sick — sick,  by  the  powers!  shiver- 
ing all  over  like  a dog  in  a wet  sack.  I must  have  broiled 
bones  and  hot  punch!" 

The  servant  entered,  and  O'Grady  swore  at  him  for  not 
coming  sooner,  though  he  was  really  expeditious  in  his 
answer  to  the  bell. 

44  Confound  your  lazy  bones;  you're  never  in  time." 

44  'Deed,  sir;  I came  the  minit  I heerd  the  bell.” 

44  Hold  your  tongue!  who  bid  you  talk?  The  devil  fly 
away  with  you!  and  you'll  never  go  fast  till  he  does.  Make 
haste  now — go  to  the  cook — ” 

44  Yes,  sir.” 

44  Curse  you!  can't  you  wait  till  you  get  your  message? 
Go  to  the  devil  with  you!  get  some  broiled  bones — hot 
water  and  tumblers — don't  forget  the  whisky — and  pepper 
them  well.  Mind,  hot — everything  hot — screeching  hot. 
Be  off,  now,  and  make  haste— mind,  make  haste!” 

44  Yes,  sir,”  said  the  servant,  whipping  out  of  the  room 
with  celerity,  and  thanking  Heaven  when  he  had  the  door 
between  him  and  his  savage  master.  When  he  got  to  the 
kitchen,  he  told  the  cook  to  make  haste,  if  ever  she  made 
haste  in  her  life,  44  for  there's  owld  Danger  upstairs  in  the 
divil's  temper,  God  bless  us!"  said  Mick. 

44  Faix,  he's  always  that,”  said  the  cook,  scurrying  across 
the  kitchen  for  the  gridiron. 

44  Oh!  but  he's  beyant  all  to-night,"  said  Mick;  44 1 
think  he'll  murther  that  chap  upstairs  before  he  stops." 


164 


HAtfDY  A2TDY. 


“ Oh,  wirra!  wirra!"  cried  the  cook;  “ there's  the  fire 
not  bright,  bad  luck  to  it,  and  he  wantin'  a brile!" 

“ Bright  or  not  bright,"  said  Mick,  “ make  haste  I'd 
advise  you,  or  he'll  have  your  life." 

The  bell  rang  violently. 

“ There,  do  you  hear  him  tattherin'?"  said  Mick,  rush- 
ing upstairs. 

“ I thought  it  was  tay  they  wor  takin',"  said  Larry 
Hogan,  who  was  sitting  in  the  chimney-corner,  smoking. 

“ So  they  are,"  said  the  cook. 

“ Then,  I suppose,  briled  bones  is  genteel?" 

“ Oh,  no;  it's  not  for  tay,  at  all,  they  want  them;  it's 
only  ould  Danger  himself.  Whenever  he's  in  a rage,  he 
ates  briled  bones. " 

“ Faith,  they  are  a brave  cure  for  anger,"  said  Larry; 
“ I wouldn't  be  angry  myself,  if  I had  one." 

Down  rushed  Mick,  to  hurry  the  cook — bang,  twang! 
went  the  bell  as  he  spoke.  “ Oh,  listen  to  him!"  said 
Mick:  “ for  the  tendher  mercy  o'  Heaven,  make  haste!" 

The  cook  transferred  the  bones  from  the  gridiron  to  a 
hot  dish. 

“ Oh,  murther,  but  they're  smoken!"  said  Mick. 

“ No  matther,"  said  the  cook,  shaking  her  red  elbow 
furiously;  “ I'll  smother  the  smoke  with  the  pepper — 
there!  give  them  a good  dab  o'  musthard  now,  and  sarve 
them  hot!" 

Away  rushed  Mick,  as  the  bell  was  rattled  into  fits  again. 

While  the  cook  had  been  broiling  bones  for  O' Grady 
below,  he  had  been  grilling  Furlong  for  himself  above.  In 
one  of  the  pauses  of  the  storm,  the  victim  ventured  to  sug- 
gest to  his  tormentor  that  all  the  mischief  that  had  arisen 
might  have  been  avoided,  if  O' Grady  had  met  him  at  the 
village,  as  he  requested  of  him  in  one  of  his  letters. 
O' Grady  denied  all  knowledge  of  such  a request,  and  after 
some  queries  about  certain  portions  of  the  letter,  it  became 
manifest  it  had  miscarried. 

“ There!"  said  O'Grady;  “ there's  a second  letter 
astray;  I'm  certain  they  put  my  letters  astray  on  purpose. 
There's  a plot  in  the  post-office  against  me;  by  this  and 
that.  I'll  have  an  inquiry.  I wish  all  the  post-offices  in  the 
world  were  blown  up;  and  all  the  postmasters  hanged,  post- 
masters-general  and  all — I do — by  the  'ternal  war,  I do — * 
#nd  all  the  mail  coaches  in  the  world  ground  to  powder. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


165 


and  the  roads  they  go  on  into  the  bargain — devil  a use  in 
them  but  to  carry  bad  news  over  the  universe — for  all  the 
letters  with  any  good  in  them  are  lost;  and  if  there's  a 
money  inclosure  in  one,  that's  cure  to  be  robbed.  Blow 
the  post-office,  I say — blow  it,  and  sink  it!" 

It  was  at  this  moment  Mick  entered  with  the  broiled 
bones,  and  while  he  was  in  the  room,  placing  glasses  on  the 
table,  and  making  the  necessary  arrangements  for  making 
“ screeching  hot  punch,"  he  heard  O' Grady  and  Furlong 
talking  about  the  two  lost  letters. 

On  his  descent  to  the  kitchen,  the  cook  was  spreading  a 
bit  of  supper  there,  in  which  Andy  was  to  join,  he  having 
just  completed  some  applications  of  brown  paper  and  vine- 
gar to  the  bruises  received  in  his  fall.  Larry  Hogan,  too. 
Was  invited  to  share  in  the  repast;  and  it  was  not  the  first 
time,  by  many,  that  Larry  quartered  on  the  Squire.  In- 
deed, many  a good  larder  was  opened  to  Larry  Hogan;  he 
held  a very  deep  interest  in  the  regards  of  all  the  female 
domestics  over  the  country,  not  on  the  strength  of  his  per- 
sonal charms,  for  Larry  had  a hanging  lip,  a snub  nose,  a 
low  forehead,  a large  ugly  head,  whose  scrubby  grizzled  hair 
grew  round  the  crown  somewhat  in  the  form  of  a priest's 
tonsure.  Not  on  the  strength  of  his  gallantry,  for  Larry 
was  always  talking  morality  and  making  sage  reflections, 
while  he  supplied  the  womankind  with  bits  of  lace,  rolls  of 
ribbon,  and  now  and  then  silk  stockings.  He  always  had 
some  plausible  story  of  how  they  happened  to  come  in  his 
way,  for  Larry  was  not  a regular  peddler;  carrying  no  box, 
he  drew  his  chance  treasures  from  the  recesses  of  very  deep 
pockets  contrived  in  various  parts  of  his  attire.  No  one 
asked  Larry  how  he  came  by  such  a continued  supply  of 
natty  articles,  and  if  they  had,  Larry  would  not  have  told 
them;  for  he  was  a very  “ close  " man,  as  well  as  a “ civil- 
spoken,"  under  which  character  he  was  first  introduced  to 
the  reader  on  the  memorable  night  of  Andy's  destructive 
adventure  in  his  mother's  cabin.  Larry  Hogan  was  about 
as  shrewd  a fellow  as  any  in  the  whole  country,  and  while 
no  one  could  exactly  make  out  what  he  was,  or  how  he 
made  the  two  ends  of  his  year  meet,  he  knew  nearly  as 
much  of  every  one's  affairs  as  they  did  themselves;  in  the 
phrase  of  the  country,  he  was  “ as  'cute  as  a fox,  as  close 
as  wax,  and  as  deep  as  a draw-well." 

The  supper-party  sat  down  in  the  kitchen,  and  between 


166 


HANDY  ANDY. 


every  three  monthfuls  poor  Mick  could  get,  he  was  mfiiged 
to  canter  upstairs  at  the  call  of  the  fiercely  rung  beli.  Ever 
and  anon,  as  he  returned,  he  bolted  his  allowance  with  an 
ejaculation,  sometimes  pious,  sometimes  the  reverse,  on  the 
hard  fate  of  attending  such  a 44  bom  devil,  ” as  he  called 
the  Squire. 

44  Why  he’s  worse  nor  ever  to-night,”  says  the  cook. 
44  What  ails  him  at  all — what  is  it  all  about?” 

44  Oh,  he’s  blackguarding  and  blastin’  away  about  that 
quare,  slink-lookin’  chap,  upstairs,  goin’  to  Squire  Egan’s 
instead  of  cornin’  here. ” 

44  That  was  a bit  o’  your  handy  work,”  said  Larry,  with 
a grim  smile  at  Andy. 

46  And  then,”  said  Mick,  44  he’s  swearin’  by  all  the 
murthers  in  the  world  agen  the  whole  counthry,  about 
some  letther  was  stole  out  of  the  post-office  by  somebody.” 
Andy’s  hand  was  in  the  act  of  raising  a mouthful  to  his 
lips,  when  these  words  were  uttered;  his  hand  fell,  and  his 
mouth  remained  open.  Larry  Hogan  had  his  eye  on  him 
at  the  moment. 

44  He  swares  he’ll  have  some  one  in  the  body  o’  the  jail,” 
said  Mick;  44  and  he’ll  never  stop  till  he  sees  them  swing. ” 
Andy  thought  of  the  effigy  on  the  wall,  and  his  dream, 
and  grew  pale. 

44  By  the  hokey,  ” said  Mick,  44 1 never  see  him  in  sitch  a 
tattherin’  rage!” — bang  went  the  bell  again — 44  0 w,  ow!” 
cried  Mick,  bolting  a piece  of  fat  bacon,  wiping  his  mouth 
on  the  sleeve  of  his  livery,  and  running  upstairs. 

44  Misses  Cook,  ma’am,”  said  Andy,  shoving  back  his 
chair  from  the  table;  44  thank  you,  ma’am,  for  your  good 
supper.  I think  I’ll  be  goin’  now.  ” 

44  Sure,  you’re  not  done  yet,  man  alive.” 

44  Enough  is  as  good  as  a feast,  ma’am,”  replied  Andy. 

44  Augh!  sure  the  morsel  you  took  is  more  like  a fast 
than  a feast,”  said  the  cook,  44  and  it’s  not  Lent.” 

44  It’s  not  lent,  sure  enough,”  said  Larry  Hogan,  with 
a sly  grin;  44  it’s  not  lent, for  you  gave  it  to  him.  ” 

44  Ah,  Misther  Hogan,  you’re  always  goin’  on  with  your 
conundherums,”  said  the  cook;  44  sure,  that’s  not  the  lent 
I mane  at  all — I mane  Good  Friday  Lent.” 

44  Faix,  every  Friday  is  good  Friday  that  a man  gets  his 
supper,”  said  Larry. 

“Well,  you  will  be  goin’  on,  Misther  Hogan,”  said  the 


DANDY  ANDY. 


167 


cook.  “ Oh,  but  you’re  a witty  man;  but  I’d  rather  have 
a yard  of  your  lace,  any  day,  than  a mile  o’ your  discourse.  ” 
“ Sure,  you  ought  not  to  mind  my  goin’  on,  when  you’re 
lettin’  another  man  go  off,  that-a--way,”  said  Larry,  point-, 
ing  to  Andy,  who,  hat  in  hand,  was  quitting  the  kitchen. 

“ Faix  an’  he  mustn’t  go,”  said  the  cook;  “ there’s  twc 
words  to  that  bargain;”  and  she  closed  the  door,  and  put 
her  back  against  it. 

“ My  mother’s  expectin’  me,  ma’am,”  said  Andy. 

“ Troth,  if ’t  was  your  wife  was  expectin’  you,  she  must 
wait  a bit,”  said  the  cook;  “ sure  you  wouldn’t  leave  the 
thirsty  curse  on  my  kitchen? — you  must  take  a dhrop  be- 
fore you  go;  besides  the  dogs  outside  the  place  would  ate 
you  onless  there  was  some  one  they  knew  along  wid  you: 
and  sure,  if  a dog  bit  you,  you  couldn’  dhrink  wather  af ther, 
let  alone  a dhrop  o’  beer,  or  a thrifle  o’  sper’ts:  isn’t  that 
true,  Misther  Hogan?” 

“ Indeed  an’  it  is,  ma’am,”  answered  Larry;  “ no  one 
can  dhrink  afther  a dog  bites  them,  and  that’s  the  ravson 
that  the  larn’d  fackleties  calls  the  disaise  high -clhry — ” 

“ High-dhry  what?”  asked  the  cook. 

, ‘h  That’s  what  I’m  thinkin’  of,”  said  Larry.  “ High- 
dhry — high-dhry — something.” 

“ There’s  high-dhry  snuff,”  said  the  cook. 

“ Oh,  no — no,  no,  ma’am!”  said  Larry,  waving  his 
band  and  shaking  his  head,  as  if  unwilling  to  be  interrupt- 
ed in  endeavoring  to  recall 

“ Some  fleeting  remembrance ; ” 

“ high-dhry — po — po — something  about  po;  faith,  it’s  not 
unlike  popery,”  said  Larry. 

‘ 6 Don’t  say  popery,”  cried  the  cook;  “ it’s  a dirty 
word!  Say  Eoman  Catholic  when  you  spake  of  the  faith.  ” 
“ Do  you  think  /would  undhervalue  the  faith?”  said 
Larry,  casting  up  his  eyes.  “ Oh,  Missis  Mulligan,  you 
know  little  of  me;  d’ye  you  think  I would  undhervalue  what 
is  my  hope,  past,  present  and  to  come? — ivhat  makes 
our  hearts  light  when  our  lot  is  heavy? — what  makes  us 
love  our  neighbor  as  ourselves?” 

“ Indeed,  Misther  Hogan,”  broke  in  the  cook,  “ I never 
knew  any  one  fonder  of  calling  in  on  a neighbor  than  your- 
self, particularly  abut  dinner-time — ” 

“ What  makes  us,”  said  Larry,  who  would  not  let  the 


168 


HANDY  ANDY. 


cook  interrupt  his  outpouring  of  pious  eloquence — “ what 
makes  us  fierce  in  prosperity  to  our  friends,  and  meek  in 
adversity  to  our  inimies?” 

“ Oh!  Misther  Hogan !”  said  the  cook,  blessing  herself. 

“ What  puts  the  leg  undher  you  when  you  are  in 
throuble?  why,  your  faith:  what  makes  you  below  desait, 
and  above  reproach,  and  on  neither  side  of  nothin'?”  Larry 
slapped  the  table  like  a prime  minister,  and  there  was  no 
opposition.  “ Oh,  Missis  Mulligan,  do  you  think  I would 
desaive  or  bethray  my  fellow-crayture?  Oh,  no — I would 
not  wrong  the  child  unborn  ” — and  this  favorite  phrase  of 
Larry  (and  other  rascals)  was,  and  is,  unconsciously  true; 
for  people,  most  generally,  must  be  born  before  they  can 
be  much  wronged. 

“ Oh,  Missis  Mulligan,”  said  Larry,  with  a devotional 
appeal  of  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  “ be  at  war  with  sin,  and 
you'll  be  at  paice  with  yourself!” 

• Just  as  Larry  wound  up  his  pious  peroration,  Mick 
shoved  in  the  door,  against  which  the  cook  supported  her^ 
self,  and  told  Andy  the  Squire  said  he  should  not  leave  the 
Hall  that  night. 

Andy  looked  aghast. 

Again  Larry  Hogan's  eyes  was  on  him. 

“Sure  I can  come  back  here  in  the  momin',”  said 
Andy,  Avho  at  the  moment  he  spoke  was  conscious  of  the 
intention  of  being  some  forty  miles  out  of  the  place  before 
dawn,  if  he  could  get  away. 

“ When  the  Squire  says  a thing,  it  must  be  done,”  said 
Mick.  “ You  must  sleep  here.” 

“ And  pleasant  dhrames  to  you,”  said  Larry,  who  saw 
Andy  wince  under  his  kindly  worded  stab. 

“ And  where  must  I sleep?”  asked  Andy,  dolefully. 

“ Out  in  the  big  loft,”  said  Mick. 

“ I'll  show  you  the  way,”  said  Larry;  “ I'm  goin'  to 
sleep  there  myself  to-night,  for  it  would  be  too  far  to  go 
home.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Mulligan — good-night,  Micky — 
come  along,  Andy.'' 

Andy  followed  Hogan.  They  had  to  cross  a yard  to 
reach  the  stables;  the  night  was  clear,  and  the  waning 
moon  shed  a steady  though  not  a bright  light  on  the  in- 
closure.  Hogan  cast  a lynx  eye  around  him  to  see  if  the 
coast  ^was  clear,  and  satisfying  himself  it  was,  he  laid  his 
hand  impressively  on  Andy's  arm  as  they  reached  the 


HANDY  ANDY.  166 

middle  of  the  yard,  and  setting  Andy’s  face  right  against 
the  moonlight,  so  that  he  might  watch  the  slightest  ex- 
pression, he  paused  for  a moment  before  he  spoke;  and 
V/hen  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a low  mysterious  whisper — low, 
as  if  he  feared  the  night  breeze  might  betray  it — and  the 
words  were  few,  but  potent,  which  he  uttered;  they  were 
these:  “ Who  robbed  the  post-office?” 

The  result  quite  satisfied  Hogan;  and  he  knew  how  to 
turn  his  knowledge  to  account.  0 ’Grady  and  Egan  were 
no  longer  friends;  a political  contest  was  pending;  letters 
were  missing;  Andy  had  been  Egan’s  servant;  and  Larry 
Hogan  had  enough  of  that  mental  chemical  power,  which, 
from  a few  raw  facts,  unimportant  separately,  could  make 
a combination  of  great  value. 

Soon  after  breakfast  at  Merryvale  the  following  morn- 
ing, Mrs.  Egan  wanted  to  see  the  Squire.  She  went  to 
his  sitting-room — it  was  bolted.  He  told  her,  from  the 
inside,  he  was  engaged  just  then,  but  would  see  her  by  and 
by.  She  retired  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Fanny  was 
singing.  “ Oh,  Fanny,”  said  her  sister,  “ sing  me  that 
dear  new  song  of  ‘ The  Voices,’  ’tis  so  sweet,  and  must  be 
felt  by  those  who,  like  me,  have  a happy  home.  ” 

Fanny  struck  a few  notes  of  a wild  and  peculiar  sym* 
phony,  and  sung  her  sister’s  favorite. 

THE  VOICE  WITHIN. 


You  ask  the  dearest  place  on  earth 
Whose  simple  joys  can  never  die; 

*Tis  the  holy  pale  of  the  happy  hearth, 
Where  love  doth  light  each  beaming  eye. 
W ith  snowy  shroud 
Let  tempest  loud 

Around  my  old  tower  raise  their  din;— 
What  boots  the  shout 
Of  storms  without, 

While  voices  sweet  resound  withinf 
O dearer  sound 
For  the  tempests  round, 

The  voices  sweet  within! 


I ask  not  wealth,  I ask  not  power; 

But,  gracious  Heaven,  oh  grant  to  me 
That,  when  the  storms  of  Fate  may  lower. 

My  heart  just  like  my  home  may  be! 


i70 


HaKDY  AHDY. 


When  in  the  gale 
Poor  Hope’s  white  sail 
Uo  haven  can  for  shelter  win. 

Fate’s  darkest  skies 
The  heart  defies 

Whose  still  small  voice  is  sweet  within. 

O heavenly  sound! 

’Mid  the  tempests  round, 

That  voice  so  sweet  within  ! 

Egan  had  entered  as  Fanny  was  singing  tt*e  second 
terse;  he  wore  a troubled  air,  which  his  wife  at  i/rst  did 
not  remark.  “ Is  not  that  a sweet  song,  Edward?”  said 
she.  “ No  one  ought  to  like  it  more  than  you,  for  your 
home  is  your  happiness,  and  no  one  has  a clearer  con- 
science.” 

Egan  kissed  her  gently,  and  thanked  hex  for  her  good 
opinion,  and  asked  her  what  she  wished  to  say  to  him. 
They  left  the  room. 

Fanny  remarked  Egan’s  unusually  troubled  air,  and  it 
tnarred  her  music;  leaving  the  piano,  and  walking  to  the 
window,  she  saw  Larry  Hogan  walking  from  the  house, 
down  the  avenue. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

If  the  morning  brought  uneasiness  and  distvnst  to  Mer- 
ryvale,  it  dawned  not  more  brightly  on  Neck-or-nothing 
Hall.  The  discord  of  the  former  night  was  not  prepara- 
tory to  harmony  on  the  morrow,  and  the  parties  separating 
in  ill-humor  from  the  drawing-room  were  not  likely  to  look 
forward  with  much  pleasure  to  the  breakfast-parlor.  But 
before  breakfast  sleep  was  to  intervene — that  is,  for  those 
Who  could  get  it — and  the  unfortunate  Furlong  was  not 
amongst  the  number.  Despite  the  very  best  feather  bed  Mrs. 
O’ Grady  had  selected  for  him  from  amongst  her  treasures, 
it  was  long  before  slumber  weighed  down  his  feverish  eye- 
lids; and  even  then,  it  was  only  to  have  them  opened  again 
in  some  convulsive  start  of  a troubled  dream.  All  his  ad- 
ventures of  the  last  four-and-twenty  hours  were  jumbled 
together  in  strange  confusion — now  on  a lonely  road,  while 
dreading  the  assaults  of  robbers,  his  course  was  interrupted 
not  by  a highwayman,  but  a river,  whereon  embarking,  he 


fiAKDY  AtfDir. 


m 


began  to  catch  salmon  in  a most  surprisingly  rapid  man- 
ner, but  just  as  he  was  about  to  haul  in  his  fish  it  escaped 
from  the  hook,  and  the  salmon,  making  wry  faces  at  him, 
very  impertinently  exclaimed,  “ Sure,  you  wouldn't  catch 
a poor,  ignorant,  Irish  salmon?”  He  then  snapped  lii§ 
pistols  at  the  insolent  fish — then  his  carriage  breaks  down, 
and  he  is  suddenly  transferred  from  the  river  to  the  road* 
thieves  seize  upon  him  and  bind  his  hands,  but  a charming 
young  lady  with  pearly  teeth  frees  him  from  his  bonds,  and 
conducts  him  to  a castle  where  a party  is  engaged  in  play- 
ing cards;  he  is  invited  to  join,  and  as  his  cards  are  dealt 
to  him  he  anticipates  triumph  in  the  game,  but  by  some 
malicious  fortune  his  trumps  are  transformed  into  things 
of  no  value,  as  they  touch  the  board;  he  loses  his  money,  and 
is  kicked  out  when  his  purse  has  been  emptied,  and  he  es- 
capes along  a dark  road  pursued  by  his  spoilers,  who  would 
take  his  life,  and  a horrid  cry  of  “ broiled  bones  ” rings  in 
his  ears  as  he  flies;  he  is  seized  and  thrown  into  a river, 
where,  as  he  sinks,  shoals  of  salmon  raise  a chorus  of  re- 
joicing, and  he  wakes  out  of  the  agonies  of  dream-drown- 
ing to  find  himself  nearly  suffocated  by  sinking  into  the 
feathery  depths  of  Mrs.  O'  Grady’s  pet  bed.  After  a night 
passed  in  such  troubled  visions  the  unfortunate  Furlong 
awoke  unrefreshed,  and,  with  bitter  recollections  of  the 
past  and  mournful  anticipations  of  the  future,  arose  and 
prepared  to  descend  to  the  parlor,  where  a servant  told  him 
breakfast  was  ready. 

His  morning  greeting  by  the  family  was  not  of  that 
hearty  and  cheerful  character  which  generally  distinguishes 
the  house  of  an  Irish  squire;  for  though  0* Grady  was  not 
so  savage  as  on  the  preceding  evening,  he  was  rather  gruff, 
and  the  ladies  dreaded  being  agreeable  when  the  master's 
temper  blew  from  a stormy  point.  Furlong  could  not  help 
regretting  at  this  moment  the  lively  breakfast- table  at 
Merryvale,  nor  avoid  contrasting  to  disadvantage  the  two 
Miss  O'Gradys  with  Fanny  Dawson.  Augusta,  the  eldest, 
inherited  the  prominent  nose  of  her  father,  and  something 
of  his  upper  lip  too,  beard  included;  and  these,  unfortu- 
nately, were  all  she  was  ever  likely  to  inherit  from  him; 
and  Charlotte,  the  younger,  had  the  same  traits  in  a mod- 
erated degree.  Altogether,  he  thought  the  girls  the  plain- 
est he  had  ever  seen,  and.  the  house  more  horrible  than, 
anything  that  was  ever  imagined;  and  he  sighed  a faint 


m 


HAHDY  akdy. 


fashionable  sigh,  to  think  his  political  duties  had  expelled 
him  from  a paradise  to  send  him 

“ The  other  way — the  other  way!” 

Four  boys  and  a little  girl  sat  at  a side-table,  where  a ca- 
pacious jug  of  milk,  large  bowls,  and  a lusty  loaf  were  laid 
under  contribution  amidst  a suppressed  but  continuous 
wrangle,  which  was  going  forward  amongst  the  juniors; 
and  a snappish  “ I will ” or  “ I won’t,”  a “ Let  me 
alone  99  or  a “ Behave  yourself,”  occasionally  was  distim 
guishable  above  the  murmur  of  dissatisfaction.  A little 
squall  from  the  little  girl  at  last  made  O’Grady  turn  round 
and  swear  that,  if  they  did  not  behave  themselves,  he’d 
turn  them  all  out. 

“ It  is  all  Goggy,  sir,”  said  the  girl. 

“ No,  it’s  not,  you  dirty  little  thing,”  cried  George, 
whose  name  was  thus  euphoniously  abbreviated. 

“ He’s  putting — ” said  the  girl,  with  excitement. 

“ Ah,  you  dirty  little — ” interrupted  Goggy,  in  a low, 
contemptuous  tone. 

“ He’s  putting,  sir — ” 

“ Whisht!  you  young  devils,  will  you?”  cried  O’Grady, 
and  a momentary  silence  prevailed;  but  the  little  girl  sniv- 
elled and  put  up  her  bib*  to  wipe  her  eyes,  while  Goggy 
put  out  his  tongue  at  her.  Many  minutes  had  not  elapsed 
when  the  girl  again  whimpered: 

“ Call  to  Goggy,  papa;  he’s  putting  some  mouse’s  tails 
into  my  milk,  sir.” 

“ Ah,  you  dirty  little  tell-tale!”  cried  Goggy,  reproach- 
fully; “ a tell-tale  is  worse  than  a mouse’s  tail.  ” 

O’ Grady  jumped  up,  gave  Master  Goggy  a box  on  the 
ear,  and  then  caught  him  by  the  aforesaid  appendage  to 
his  head,  and  as  he  led  him  to  the  door  by  the  same,  Goggy 
bellowed  lustily,  and  when  ejected  from  the  room  howled 
down  the  passage  more  like  a dog  than  a human  being. 
O’Grady,  on  resuming  his  seat,  told  Polsheef  (the  little 
girl)  she  was  always  getting  Goggy  a beating,  and  she  teas 
a little  cantankerous  cat  and  a dirty  tell-tale,  as  Goggy 
said.  Amongst  the  ladies  and  Furlong  the  breakfast  went 
forward  with  coldness  and  constraint,  and  all  wrere  glad 
when  it  was  nearly  over.  At  this  period,  Mrs*  O’ Grady 

f Mary. 


* Pinafore. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


m 


half  filled  a large  bowl  from  the  tea-urn,  and  then  added 
to  it  some  weak  tea,  and  Miss  O' Grady  collected  all  the 
broken  bread  about  the  table  on  a plate.  Just  then  Fur- 
long ventured  to  “twouble"  Mrs.  O'Grady  for  a leetle* 
more  tea,  and  before  he  handed  her  his  cup  he  would  have 
emptied  the  sediment  in  the  slop-basin,  but  by  mistake  he 
popped  it  into  the  large  bowl  of  miserable  Mrs.  O'  Grady 
had  prepared.  Furlong  begged  a thousand  pardons,  but 
Mrs.  O' Grady  assured  him  it  was  of  no  consequence,  as  it 
was  only  for  the  tutor ! 

O' Grady,  having  swallowed  his  breakfast  as  fast  as  possi- 
ble, left  the  room;  the  whole  party  soon  followed,  and  on 
arriving  in  the  drawing-room,  the  young  ladies  became 
more  agreeable  when  no  longer  under  the  constraint  of 
their  ogre  father.  Furlong  talked  slip-slop  commonplaces 
with  them;  they  spoke  of  the  country  and  the  weather,  and 
he  of  the  city;  they  assured  him  that  the  dews  were  heavy 
in  the  evening,  and  that  the  grass  was  so  green  in  that  part 
of  the  country;  he  obliged  them  with  the  interesting  in- 
formation, that  the  Liffey  ran  through  Dublin,  but  that  the 
two  sides  of  the  city  communicated  by  means  of  bridges — 
that  the  houses  were  built  of  red  brick  generally,  and  that 
the  hall-doors  were  painted  in  imitation  of  mahogany;  to 
which  the  young  ladies  responded,  “ La,  how  odd!"  and 
added,  that  in  the  country  people  mostly  painted  their  hall- 
doors  green,  to  match  the  grass.  Furlong  admitted  the 
propriety  of  the  proceeding,  and  said  he  liked  uniformity. 
The  young  ladies  quite  coincided  in  his  opinion,  declared 
they  all  were  so  fond  of  uniformity,  and  added  that  one  of 
their  carriage  horses  was  blind.  Furlong  admitted  the  ex- 
cellence of  the  observation,  and  said,  in  a very  soft  voice, 
that  Love  was  blind  also. 

“ Exactly,"  said  Miss  O' Grady,  “ and  that's  the  reason 
we  call  our  horse  Cupid!" 

“ How  clever!"  replied  Furlong. 

“ And  the  mare  that  goes  in  harness  with  him — she's  an 
ugly  creature,  to  be  sure,  but  we  call  her  Venus." 

“Howdwoll!"  said  Furlong. 

“ That's  for  uniformity,"  said  Miss  O'Grady. 

“ How  good!"  was  the  rejoinder. 

Mrs.  O' Grady,  who  had  left  the  room  for  a few  minutes, 
now  returned  and  told  Furlong  she  would  show  him  over 
the  house  if  he  pleased.  He  assented,  of  course,  and  under 


m 


HAKDY  AHBY. 


her  guidance  went  through  many  apartments;  those  OB  the 
basement  story  were  hurried  through  rapidly,  but  when 
Mrs.  O*  Grady  got  him  upstairs,  amongst  the  bedrooms,  she 
dwelt  on  the  excellence  of  every  apartment.  “ This  I need 
not  show  you,  Mr.  Furlong — 'tis  your  own;  I hope  you 
slept  well  last  night?”  This  was  the  twentieth  time  the 
question  had  been  asked.  “ Now,  here  is  another,  Mr. 
Furlong;  the  window  looks  out  on  the  lawn:  so  nice  to  look 
out  bn  a lawn,  I think,  in  the  morning,  when  one  gets  up! 
so  refreshing  and  wholesome!  Oh!  you  are  looking  at  the 
stain  in  the  ceiling,  but  we  couldn't  get  the  roof  repaired 
in  time  before  the  winter  set  in  last  year;  and  Mr.  0’ Grady 
thought  we  might  as  well  have  the  painters  and  slaters 
together  in  the  summer — and  the  house  does  want  paint, 
indeed,  but  we  all  hate  the  smell  of  paint.  See  here,  Mr. 
Furlong,”  and  she  turned  up  a quilt  as  she  spoke;  “ just 
put  your  hand  into  that  bed ; did  you  ever  feel  a finer  bed?” 

Furlong  declared  he  never  did. 

“ Oh,  you  don't  know  how  to  feel  a bed!  put  your  hand 
into  it — well,  that  way;"  and  Mrs.  O'Grady  plunged  her 
arm  up  to  the  elbow  in  the  object  of  her  admiration.  Fur- 
long poked  the  bed,  and  was  all  laudation. 

“ Isn't  it  beautiful?'' 

“ Cha'ming!"  replied  Furlong,  trying  to  pick  off  the 
bits  of  down  which  clung  to  his  coat. 

“ Oh,  never  mind  the  down — you  shall  be  brushed  after; 
I always  show  my  beds,  Mr.  Furlong.  Now,  here's 
another;"  and  so  she  went  on,  dragging  poor  Furlong  up 
and  down  the  house,  and  he  did  not  get  out  of  her  clutches 
till  he  had  poked  all  the  beds  in  the  establishment.  As 
soon  as  that  ceremony  was  over,  and  that  his  coat  had 
undergone  the  process  of  brushing,  he  wished  to  take  a 
stroll,  and  was  going  forth,  when  Mrs.  O'Grady  interrupt- 
ed him,  with  the  assurance  that  it  would  not  be  safe  unless 
some  one  of  the  family  became  his  escort,  for  the  dogs 
were  very  fierce — Mr.  O'Grady  was  so  fond  of  dogs,  and  so 
proud  of  a particular  breed  of  dogs  he  had,  so  remarkable 
for  their  courage — he  had  better  wait  till  the  boys  had  done 
1 heir  Latin  lesson.  So  Furlong  was  marched  back  to  the 
d ra  wing-room. 

There  the  younger  daughter  addressed  him  with  a mes- 
sage from  her  grandmamma,  who  wished  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  making  his  acquaintance,  and  hoped  he  would  pay 


HANDY  ANDY, 


175 


her  a visit.  Furlong,  of  course,  was  “ quite  delighted,” 
and  “ too  happy,  ” and  the  young  lady,  thereupon,  led  him 
to  the  old  lady^s  apartment. 

The  old  dowager  had  been  a beauty  in  her  youth — one 
of  the  belles  of  the  Irish  court,  and  when  she  heard  “ a 
gentleman  from  Dublin  Castle  ” was  in  the  house  she  de- 
sired to  see  him.  To  see  any  one  from  the  seat  of  her 
juvenile  joys  and  triumphs  w mid  have  given  her  delight, 
were  it  only  the  coachman  that  had  driven  a carriage  to  a 
levee  or  drawing-room;  she  could  ask  him  about  the 
sentinels  at  the  gate,  the  entrance-porch,  and  if  the  long 
range  of  windows  yet  glittered  with  lights  on  St.  Patrick^ 
night;  but  to  have  a conversation  with  an  official  from  that 
seat  of  government  and  courtly  pleasure  was,  indeed,  some- 
thing to  make  her  happy. 

On  Furlong  being  introduced,  the  old  lady  received  him 
very  courteously,  at  the  same  time  with  a certain  air  that 
betokened  she  was  accustomed  to  deference.  Her  com- 
manding figure  wras  habited  in  a loose  morning  wrapper, 
made  of  gray  flannel;  but  while  this  gave  Evidence  she 
studied  her  personal  comfort  rather  than  appearance,  a bit 
of  pretty  silk  handkerchief  about  the  neck,  very  knowingly 
displayed,  and  a becoming  ribbon  in  her  cap  showed  she 
did  not  quite  neglect  her  good  looks;  it  did  not  require  a 
very  quick  eye.  to  see,  besides,  a small  touch  of  rouge  on 
the  cheek  which  age  had  depressed,  and  the  assistance  of 
Indian  ink  to  the  eyebrow  which  time  had  thinned  and 
faded.  A glass  filled  with  flowers  stood  on  the  table  before 
her,  and  a quantity  of  books  lay  scattered  about;  a guitar 
— not  the  Spanish  instrument  now  in  fashion,  but  the  En- 
glish one  of  some  eighty  years  ago,  strung  with  wire  and 
tuned  in  thirds — hung  by  a blue  ribbon  beside  her;  a corner 
cupboard,  fantastically  carved,  bore  some  curious  specimens 
of  china  on  one  side  of  the  room;  while,  in  strange  discord 
with  what  was  really  scarce  and  beautiful,  the  commonest 
Dutch  cuckoo-clock  was  suspended  on  the  opposite  wall; 
close  beside  her  chair  stood  a very  pretty  little  Japan  table, 
bearing  a looking-glass  with  numerous  drawers  framed  in 
the  same  material;  and  while  Furlong  seated  himself,  the 
old  lady  cast  a sidelong  glance  at  the  mirror,  and  her  with- 
ered fingers  played  with  the  fresh  ribbon. 

“You  have  recently  arrived  from  the  Castle,  sir,  I 
understand?” 


176 


HANDY  AND  Ye 


w ; Quite  wecently,  madam — a wived  last  night.  ** 

“ I hope  his  Excellency  is  well — not  that  I have  the 
honor  of  his  acquaintance,  but  I love  the  lord  lieutenant — 
and  the  aids-de-camp  are  so  nice,  and  the  little  pages!— 
put  a marker  in  that  book,”  said  she,  in  an  undertone,  to 
her  granddaughter,  “ page  seventy-four — ah/  * she  resumed 
in  a higher  tone,  “ that  reminds  me  of  the  Honorable  Capr 
tain  Wriggle,  who  commanded  a seventy-four,  and  danced 
With  me  at  the  Castle  the  evening  Lady  Legge  sprained 
her  ankle.  By* the  bye,  are  there  any  seventy-fours  in 
Dublin  now?”  v 

“ I wather  think/*  said  Furlong,  “ the  bay  is  not  suffi- 
ciently deep  for  line-of-battle  ships.** 

“ Oh,  dear,  yes!  I have  seen  quantities  of  seventy-fours 
there;  though,  indeed,  I am  not  quite  sure  if  it  wasn*t  at 
Splithead.  Give  me  the  smelling  salts,  Charlotte,  love;  mine 
does  ache  indeed!  How  subject  the  dear  Duchess  of  Rut- 
land was  to  headaches;  you  did  not  know  the  Duchess  of 
Rutland?  no,  to  be  sure,  what  am  I thinking  of?  you*re 
too  young?  but  those  were  the  charming  days!  You  have 
heard,  of  course,  the  duchess*  ion  mot  in  reply  to  the  com- 
pliment of  Lord  — — , but  I must  not  mention  his  name, 
because  there  was  some  scandal  about  them;  but  the  gen- 
tleman said  to  the  duchess — I must  tell  you  she  was  Isa- 
bella, Duchess  of  Rutland — and  he  said,  ‘ Isabelle  is  a 
lelle , * to  which  the  duchess  replied,  ‘ Isabelle  was  a ielle.  * ** 
“ Vewy  neat,  indeed!**  said  Furlong. 

“ Ah!  poor  thing,**  said  the  dowager,  with  a sigh,  “ she 
was  beginning  to  be  a little  passee  then;**  she  looked  in 
the  glass  herself,  and  added,  “ Dear  me,  how  pale  I am 
this  morning!**  and  pulling  out  one  of  the  little  drawers 
from  the  Japan  looking-glass,  she  took  out  a pot  of  rouge 
and  heightened  the  color  on  her  cheek.  The  old  lady  not 
only  heightened  her  own  color,  but  that  of  the  witnesses — 
of  Furlong  particularly,  who  was  quite  surprised.  “ Why 
am  I so  very  pale  this  morning,  Charlotte  love?**  continued 
the  old  lady. 

“ You  sit  up  so  late  reading,  grandmamma.** 

“ Ah,  who  can  resist  the  fascination  of  the  muses?  You 
are  fond  of  literature,  I hope,  sir?** 

“ Extwemely/*  replied  Furlong. 

.“As  a statesman/*  continued  the  old  lady — to  whom 
Furlong  made  a deep  obeisanoA  at  the  word  “ statesman 99 


HANDY  ANDY. 


m 

— “ as  a statesman*  of  course  your  reading  lies  in  the  more 
solid  department;  but  if  you  ever  do  condescend  to  read  a 
romance*  there  is  the  sweetest  thing  I ever  met  I am  just 
now  engaged  in;  it  is  called  6 The  Blue  Bobber  of  the  Pink 
Mountain. * I have  not  come  to  the  pink  mountain  yet*  but 
the  blue  robber  is  the  most  perfect  character.  The  author* 
however*  is  guilty  of  a strange  forgetfulness;  he  begins  by 
speaking  of  the  robber  as  of  the  middle  age*  and  soon  after 
describes  him  as  a young  man.  Now*  how  could  a young 
man  be  of  the  middle  age?** 

“ It  seems  a stwange  inaccuwacy*"  lisped  Furlong. 
“ But  poets  sometimes  pwesume  on  the  pwivilege  they  have 
of  doing  what  they  please  with  their  hewToes." 

“ Quite  true*  sir.  And  talking  of  heroes*  I hope  the 
Knights  of  St.  Patrick  are  well — I do  admire  them  so 
much!  *tis  so  interesting  to  see  their  banners  and  helmets 
hanging  up  in  St.  Patricks  Cathedral*  that  venerable  pile! 
with  the  loud  peal  of  the  organ — sublime — isn't  it?  the 
banners  almost  tremble  in  the  vibration  of  the  air  to  the 
loud  swell  of  the  ‘ A-a-a-men!*  the  very  bankers  seem  to 
wave  6 Amen!*  Oh*  that  swell  is  so  fine!  I think  they 
are  fond  of  swells  in  the  choir;  they  have  a good  effect* 
and  some  of  the  young  men  are  so  good-looking!  and  the 
little  boys*  too— I suppose  they  are  choristers*  children?** 

The  old  lady  made  a halt*  and  Furlong  filled  up  the 
pause  by  declaring*  “ He  weally  couldn't  say." 

“ I hope  you  admire  the  service  at  St.  Patrick's?"  con- 
tinued the  old  lady. 

“ Ye-s*  I think  St.  Paytwick's  a vewy  amusing  place  of 
wo'ship." 

“ Amusing*"  said  the  old  lady*  half  offended.  “In- 
spiring* you  mean;  not  that  I think  the  sermon  interesting* 
but  the  anthem!  oh*  the  anthem*  it  is  so  fine — and  the  old 
banners*  those  are  my  delight— the  dear  banners  covered 
with  dust!" 

“ Oh*  as  far  as  that  goes*"  said  Furlong*  “ they  have 
impwoved  the  cathedwal  vewy  mucli*  fo*  they  whitewashed 
it  inside*  .and  put  up  noo  banners." 

“ Whitewash  and  new  banners!"  exclaimed  the  indig- 
nant dowager;  “ the  Goths!  to  remove  an  atom  of  the 
romantic  dust!  I would  not  have  let  a house-maid  into  the 
place  for  the  world!  But  they  have  left  the  anthem*  J 
hope?" 


178 


HAHDY  ANDY. 

“ Oh,  yes,  the  anthem  is  continued,  but  with  a small 
diffewence:  they  used  to  sing  the  anthem  befo*  the  sermon, 
but  the  people  used  to  go  away  afte*  the  anthem  and  neve’ 
waited  fo*  the  sermon,  and  the  bishop,  who  is  pwoud  of 
his  pweaching,  ordered  the  anthem  to  be  postponed  till  afte* 
the  se*mon.** 

“ Oh,  yes,”  said  the  old  lady,  “ I remember,  now,  hear- 
ing of  that,  and  some  of  the  wags  in  Dublin  saying  the 
bishop  was  jealous  of  old  Spray;*  and  didn*t  somebody 
write  something  called  6 Pulpit  versus  Organloft  *?** 

“ 1 cawn*t  say.” 

“ Well,  I am  glad  you  like  the  cathedral,  sir;  but  I wish 
they  had  not  dusted  the  banners;  I used  to  look  at  them 
all  the  time  the  service  went  on — they  were  so  romantic!  I 
suppose  you  go  there  every  Sunday?” 

go  in  the  summe*,**  said  Furlong;  “ the  place  is  so 
cold  in  the  winte*.** 

“ That*s  true  indeed/*  responded  the  dowager,  “ and 
it*s  quite  funny,  when  your  teeth  are  chattering  with  cold, 
to  hear  Sprjiy  singing,  4 Comfort  ye,  my  people;*  but,  to 
be  sure,  that  is  almost  enough  to  warm  you.  You  are 
fond  of  music,  I perceive?** 

“ Vewy!** 

“ I play  the  guitar — (citra— cithra — or  lute,  as  it  is 
called  by  the  poets).  I sometimes  sing,  too.  Do  you 
know  ‘ The  lass  with  the  delicate  air?*  a sweet  ballad  of  the 
old  school — my  instrument  once  belonged  to  Dolly  Bland, 
the  celebrated  Mrs.  Jordan  nowT — ah,  there,  sir,  is  a brill- 
iant specimen  of  Irish  mirthfulness — what  a creature  she 
is!  Hand  me  my  lute,  child,**  she  said  to  her  granddaugh- 
ter; and  having  adjusted  the  blue  ribbon  over  her  shoulder, 
and  twisted  the  tuning-pegs,  and  thrummed  upon  the  wires 
for  some  time,  she  made  a prelude  and  cleared  her  throat 
to  sing  “ The  lass  with  the  delicate  air,**  when  the  loud 
whirring  of  the  clock-wheels  interrupted  her,  and  she 
looked  up  with  great  delight  at  a little  door  in  the  top  of 
the  clock,  which  suddenly  sprung  open,  and  out  popped  a 
wooden  bird. 

“ Listen  to  my  bird,  sir/*  said  the  old  lady. 

The  sound  of  46  cuckoo  **  was  repeated  twelve  times,  the 

* One  of  the  finest  tenors  of  the  last  century. 


HANDY  ANDY.  179 

bird  popped  in  again,  the  little  door  closed,  and  the 
monotonous  tick  of  the  clock  continued. 

“ That's  my  little  bird,  sir,  that  tells  me  secrets;  and 
now,  sir,  you  must  leave  me;  I never  receive  visits  after 
twelve.  I can't  sing  you  6 The  lass  with  the  delicate  air ' 
to-day,  for  who  would  compete  with  the  feathered  songsters 
of  the  grove?  and  after  my  sweet  little  warbler  up  there,  I 
dare  not  venture:  but  I will  sing  it  for  you  to-morrow. 
Good-morning,  sir.  I am  happy  to  have  had  the  honor  of 
making  your  acquaintance."  She  bowed  Furlong  out  very 
politely,  and  as  her  granddaughter  was  following,  she  said, 
“ My  love,  you  must  not  forget  some  seeds  for  my  little 
bird."  Furlong  looked  rather  surprised,  for  he  saw  no 
bird  but  the  one  in  the  clock;  the  young  lady  marked  his 
expression,  and  as  she  closed  the  door  she  said,  6 6 Ycu 
must  not  mind  grandmamma;  you  know  she  is  sometimes 
a little  queer." 

Furlong  was  now  handed  over  to  the  boys,  to  show  him 
over  the  domain;  and  they,  young  imps  as  they  were, 
knowing  he  was  in  no  favor  with  their  father,  felt  they 
might  treat  him  as  ill  as  they  pleased,  and  quiz  him  with 
impunity.  The  first  portion  of  Furlong's  penance  consist- 
ed m being  dragged  through  dirty  stable-yards  and  out- 
houses, and  shown  the  various  pets  of  all  the  parties;  dogs, 
pigeons,  rabbits,  weasels,  et  ccetera , were  paraded,  and 
their  qualities  expatiated  upon,  till  poor  Furlong  was  quite 
weary  of  them,  and  expressed  a desire  to  see  the  domain. 
Horatio,  the  second  boy,  whose  name  was  abbreviated  to 
Eatty,  told  him  they  must  wait  for  Gusty,  who  was  mend- 
ing his  spear.  “ We're  going  to  spear  for  eels,"  said  the 
boy;  “ did  you  ever  spear  for  eels?" 

“ I should  think  not,"  said  Furlong,  with  a knowing 
smile,  who  suspected  this  was  intended  to  be  a second  edi- 
tion of  quizzing  a la  mode  de  saumon . 

“ You  think  Fm  joking,"  said  the  boy,  “ but  it's  famous 
sport,  I can  tell  you;  but  if  you're  tired  of  waiting  here, 
come  along  with  me  to  the  milliner's,  and  we  can  wait  for 
Gusty  there." 

While  following  the  boy,  who  jumped  along  to  the  tune 
of  a jig  he  was  whistling,  now  and  then  changing  the 
whistle  into  a song  to  the  same  tune,  with  very  odd  words 
indeed,  and  a burden  of  gibberish  ending  with  “ riddle- 
diddle-dow,"  Furlong  wondered  what  a milliner  could  have 


180 


HANDY  ANDY. 


to  do  in  such  an  establishment,  and  his  wonder  was  not 
lessened  when  his  guide  added,  “ The  milliner  is  a queer 
chap,  and  may  be  heTl  tell  us  something  funny.  ** 

“Then  the  milline*  is  a man?**  said  Furlong. 

“ Yes,**  said  the  boy,  laughing;  “ and  he  does  not  work 
with  needle  and  thread  either.** 

They  approached  a small  out-house  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
sharp  clinking  of  a hammer  fell  on  the  ear.  Shoving  open 
a rickety  door,  the  boy  cried,  “ Well,  Fogy,  I*ve  brought  a 
gentleman  to  see  you.  This  is  Fogy,  the  milliner,  sir,** 
said  he  to  Furlong,  whose  surprise  was  further  increased, 
when,  in  the  person  of  the  man  called  the  milliner,  he  be- 
Iteld  a tinker. 

“ What  a strange  pack  of  people  I have  got  amongst,** 
thought  Furlong. 

The  old  tinker  saw  his  surprise,  and  grinned  at  him. 
“ I suppose  it  was  a nate  young  woman  you  thought  you*d 
see  when  he  towld  you  he*d  bring  you  to  the  milliner— ha! 
ha!  ha!  Oh,  they*re  nate  lads,  the  Master  0*Gradys;  divil 
a thing  they  call  by  the  proper  name,  at  all.** 

“ Yes,  we  do,*’  said  the  boy,  sharply;  “we  call  our- 
selves by  our  proper  names.  Ha!  Fogy,  I have  you  there.** 

“ Divil  a taste,  as  smart  as  you  think  yourself,  Masther 
Ratty;  you  call  yourselves  gentlemen,  and  that*s  not  your 
proper  name.** 

Ratty,  who  was  scraping  triangles  on  the  door  with  a 
piece  of  broken  brick,  at  once  converted  his  pencildnto  a 
missile,  and  let  fly  at  the  head  of  the  tinker,  who  seemed 
quite  prepared  for  such  a result,  for,  raising  the  kettle  he 
was  mending,  he  caught  the  shot  adroitly,  and  the  brick 
rattled  harmlessly  on  the  tin. 

“Ha!**  said  the  tinker,  mockingly,  “you  missed  me, 
like  your  mammy* s blessin*;**  and  he  pursued  his  work. 

“ What  a very  odd  name  he  calls  you,**  said  Furlong, 
addressing  young  0*  Grady. 

“ Ratty,**  said  the  boy.  “ Oh,  yes,  they  call  me  Ratty, 
short  for  Horatio.  I was  called  Horatio  after  Lord  Nelson, 
because  Lord  Nelson*  s father  was  a clergyman,  and  papa 
intends  me  for  the  Church.** 

“ And  a nate  clargy  you *11  make,**  said  the  tinker. 

“ And  why  do  they  call  you  milline*?**  inquired  Furlong. 
The  old  man  looked  up  and  grinned,  but  said  nothing. 

“ You*ll  know  before  long,  1*11  engage,**  said  Ratty; 


HAXDY  AKBY.  131 

c<won*t  he,  Fogy?  You  were  with  old  Gran*  to-day, 
weren't  you?" 

“Yes.” 

“ Did  she  sing  to  you  ‘ The  lass  with  the  delicate  air  '?" 
said  the  boy,  putting  himself  in  the  attitude  of  a person 
playing  the  guitar,  throwing  up  his  eyes,  and  mimicking 
the  voice  of  an  old  woman : 

“ So  they  call’d  her,  they  call’d  her. 

The  lass — the  lass 

With  a delicate  air, 

De — 1 ick-it — lick-it— lick-it 
The  lass  with  a de — lick-it  air.” 

The  young  rascal  made  frightful  mouths,  and  put  out 
his  tongue  every  time  he  said  “ lick-it,"  and  when  he  had 
finished,  asked  Furlong,  “ Wasn't  that  the  thing?"  Fur- 
long told  him  his  grandmamma  had  been  going  to  sing  it, 
but  this  pleasure  had  been  deferred  till  to-morrow. 

“ Then  you  did  not  hear  it?"  said  Eatty. 

Furlong  answered  in  the  negative. 

“ Och!  murder!  murder!  I'm  sorry  I told  you. " 

“ Is  it  so  veivy  pa'ticula',  then?"  inquired  Furlong. 

“ Oh,  you'll  find  out  that,  and  more  too,  if  you  live  long 
Enough,"  was  the  answer.  Then  turning  to  the  tinker,  he 
said,  “ Have  you  any  milliner  work  in  hand.  Fogy?" 

“ To  be  sure  I have,''  answered  the  tinker;  “ who  has 
so  good  a right  to  know  that  as  yourself?  Throth,  you've 
little  to  do,  I'm  thinkin',  when  you  ax  that  idle  question. 
Oh,  you're  nate  lads!  And  would  nothin4  sarve  you  but 
brakin'  the  weather-cock?” 

“ Oh,  'twas  such  a nice  cock-shot;  'twas  impossible  not 
to  have  a shy  at  it,' ' said  Eatty,  chuckling. 

“ Oh,  you're  nice  lads!"  still  chimed  in  the  tinker. 

“ Besides,"  said  Eatty,  “ Gusty  bet  me  a bull-dog  pup 
against  a rabbit,  I could  not  smash  it  in  three  goes.  ” 

“ Faix,  an'  he  ought  to  know  you  betther  than  that,” 
said  the  tinker;  “ for  you'd  make  a fair  offer*  at  anything, 
I think,  but  an  answer  to  your  school-masther.  Oh,  a nate 
lad  you  are — a nate  lad! — a nice  clargy  you'll  be,  your  riv- 
irence.  Oh,  if  you  hit  off  the  tin  commandments  as  fast 
as  you  hit  off  the  tin  weather- cock,  it's  a good  man  you'll 

* A “ fair  offer  ” is  a phrase  amongst  the  Irish  peasantry,  mean 
ing  a successful  aim. 


m 


IIAlTDY  AInDY* 


be — an*  if  I never  bad  a headache  fill  then,  sure  it*s  Iiapntr 
Fd  be!**  J 

“ Hold  your  prate,  old  Growly,**  said  Ratty;  “ and  why 
don*t  you  mend  the  weather-cock?** 

“ I must  mend  the  kittle  first — and  a purty  kittle  you 
made  of  it! — and  would  nothing  sarve  you  but  the  best 
kittle  in  the  house  to  tie  to  the  dog*s  tail?  Ah,  Masther 
Ratty,  you*re  terrible  boys,  so  yiz  are!** 

“ Hold  your  prate,  you  old  thief! — why  wouldn*t  we 
amuse  ourselves?** 

“ And  huntin*  the  poor  dog,  too.  ** 

“ Well,  what  matter! — he  was  a strange  dog.** 

“ That  makes  no  differ  in  the  crulety.  ** 

“Ah,  bother!  you  old  humbug! — who  was  it  blackened 
therag-woman*seye? — ha!  Fogy — ha!  Fogy — dirty  Fogy!** 
“ Go  away,  Masther  Ratty,  you*  re  too  good,  so  you  are, 
your  rivirince.  Faix,  I wondher  his  honor,  the* Squire, 
doesn*t  murdher  you  sometimes.** 

“ He  would,  if  he  could  catch  us,**  replied  Ratty,  “ but 
we  run  too  fast  for  him,  so  divil  thank  him ! — and  you,  too. 
Fogy — ha,  old  Growly!  Come  along,  Mr.  Furlong,  here* 3 
Gusty — bad  scran  to  you.  Fogy!**  and  he  slammed  the 
door  as  he  quitted  the  tinker. 

Gustavus,  followed  by  two  younger  brothers,  Theodore 
and  Godfrey  (for  0*Grady  loved  high-sounding  names  in 
baptism,  though  they  got  twisted  into  such  queer  shapes  in 
family  use),  now  led  the  way  over  the  park  toward  the 
river.  Some  fine  timber  they  passed  occasionally;  but  the 
ax  had  manifestly  been  busy,  and  the  wood  seemed  thinned 
rather  from  necessity  than  for  improvement;  the  paths 
were  choked  with  weeds  and  fallen  leaves,  and  the  rank 
moss  added  its  evidence  of  neglect.  The  boys  pointed  out 
anything  they  thought  worthy  of  observation  by  the  way, 
such  as  the  best  places  to  find  a hare,  the  most  covered  ap- 
proach to  the  river  to  get  a shot  at  wild  ducks,  or  where 
the  best  young  wood  was  to  be  found  from  whence  to  cut  a 
stick.  On  reaching  their  point  of  destination,  which  was 
where  the  river  was  less  rapid,  and  its  banks  sedgy  and 
thickly  grown  with  flaggers  and  bulrushes,  the  sport  of 
spearing  for  eels  commenced.  Gusty  first  undertook  the 
task,  and,  after  some  vigorous  plunges  of  his  implement 
into  the  water,  he  brought  up  the  prey,  wriggling  between 
its  barbed  prongs.  Furlong  was  amazed,  for  he  thought 


SANDY  ANDY. 


183 


this,  like  the  salmon-fishing,  was  intended  as  a quiz,  and, 
after  a few  more  examples  of  Gusty ’s  prowess,  he  under- 
took the  sport;  a short  time,  however,  fatigued  his  unprac- 
ticed arm,  and  he  relinquished  the  spear  to  Theodore,  or 
Tay,  as  they  called  him,  and  Tay  shortly  brought  up  his 
fish,  and  thus,  one  after  another,  the  boys,  successful  in 
their  sport,  soon  made  the  basket  heavy. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  they  desired  Furlong  to  carry 
it;  he  declared  he  had  no  curiosity  whatever  in  that  line, 
but  the  boys  would  not  let  him  off  so  easy,  and  told  him 
the  practice  there  was,  that  every  one  should  take  his  share 
in  the  day's  sport,  and  as  he  could  not  catch  the  fish  he 
should  carry  it.  He  attempted  a parley,  and  suggested  he 
was  only  a visitor;  but  they  only  laughed  at  him — said  that 
might  be  a very  good  Dublin  joke,  but  it  would*  not  pass  in 
the  country.  He  then  attempted  laughingly  to  decline  the 
honor;  but  Eatty,  turning  round  to  a monstrous  dog, 
which  hitherto  had  followed  them,  quietly  said,  “ Here! 
Bloodybones;  here!  boy!  at  him,  sir! — make  him  do  his 
work,  boy!"  The  bristling  savage  made  a low  growl,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Furlong,  who  attempted  to  remonstrate; 
but  he  very  soon  gave  that  up,  for  another  word  from  the 
boys  urged  the  dog  to  a howl  and  a crouch,  preparatory  to 
a spring,  and  Furlong  made  no  further  resistance,  but  took 
up  the  basket  amid  the  uproarious  laughter  of  the  boys, 
who  continued  their  sport,  adding  every  now  and  then  to 
the  weight  of  Furlong's  load;  and  whenever  he  lagged  be- 
hind, they  cried  out,  66  Come  along,  man-Jack!"  which 
was  the  complimentary  name  they  called  him  by  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  Furlong  thought  spearing  for  eels  worse 
sport  than  fishing  for  salmon,  and  was  rejoiced  when  a 
turn  homeward  was  taken  by  the  party;  but  his  annoyances 
were  not  yet  ended.  On  their  return,  their  route  lay  across 
a plank  of  considerable  length,  which  spanned  a small 
branch  of  the  river;  it  had  no  central  support,  and  conse- 
quently sprung  -considerably  to  the  foot  of  the  passenger, 
who  was  afforded  no  protection  from  handrail,  or  even  a, 
swinging  rope,  and  this  rendered  its  passage  difficult  to  an 
unpracticed  person.  When  Furlong  was  told  to  make  his 
way  across,  he  hesitated,  and,  after  many  assurances  on  his 
part  that  he  could  not  attempt  it,  Gusty  said  he  would  lead 
him  over  in  security,  and  took  his  hand  for  the  purpose; 
but  when  he  had  him  just  in  the  center,  he  loosed  himself 


HANDY  ANDY. 


184  * 

from  Furlong’s  hold,  and  ran  to  the  opposite  side.  Wink, 
Furlong  was  praying  him  to  return.  Ratty  stole  behind  him 
sufficiently  far  to  have  purchase  enough  on  the  plank,  and 
begun  jumping  till  he  made  it  spring  too  high  for  poor 
Furlong  to  hold  his  footing  any  longer;  so  squatting  on 
the  plank,  he  got  astride  upon  it,  and  held  on  with  his 
hands,  every  descending  vibration  of  the  board  dipping  his 
dandy  boots  in  the  water. 

“ Well  done.  Ratty!”  shouted  all  the  boys. 

“ Splash  him,  Tay!”  cried  Gusty.  “ Pull  away,  Gog- 
gy-” 

The  three  boys  now  began  pelting  large  stones  into  the 
river  close  beside  Furlong,  splashing  him  so  thoroughly, 
that  he  was  wringing  wet  in  five  minutes.  In  vain  Fur- 
long shouted,  “ Young  gentlemen!  young  gentlemen!” 
and,  at  last,  when  he  threatened  to  complain  to  their  fa- 
ther, they  recommenced  worse  than  before,  and  vowed 
they’d  throw  him  into  the  stream  if  he  did  not  promise  to 
be  silent  on  the  subject;  for,  to  use  their  own  words,  if 
they  were  beaten,  they  might  as  well  duck  him  at  once, 
and  have  the  “ worth  of  their  licking.”  At  last,  a com- 
promise being  effected,  Furlong  stood  up  to  walk  off  the 
plank.  “Remember,”  said  Ratty,  “you  won’t  tell  we 
noised*  you?”  • 

“ I won’t  indeed,”  said  Furlong;  and  he  got  safe  to  land. 
“But  I will!”  cried  a voice  from  a neighboring  wood ; 
and  Miss  O’Grady  appeared,  surrounded  by  a crowd  of 
little  pet-dogs.  She  shook  her  head  in  a threatening  man- 
ner at  the  offenders,  and  all  the  little  dogs  set  up  a yelp- 
ing bark,  as  if  to  enforce  their  mistress’  anger.  The 
snappish  barking  of  the  pets  was  returned  by  one  hoarse  bay 
from  “ Bloodybones,”  which  silenced  the  little  dogs,  as  a 
broadside  from  a seventy-four  would  dumfounder  a flock 
of  privateers,  and  the  boys  returned  the  sister’s  threat  by  a 
universal  shout  of  “ Tell-tale!” 

“ Go  home,  tell-tale!”  they  all  cried;  and  with  an  action 
equally  simultaneous,  they  stooped  one  and  all  for  pebbles, 
and  pelted  Miss  Augusta  so  vigorously,  that  she  and  her 
dogs  were  obliged  to  run  for  it. 


* A vulgarism  for  u hoisted.* 


HAHDY  AHBY. 


185 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HaYTKG-  recounted  Furloughs  out-door  adventures*  it  is 
necessary  to  say  something  of  what  was  passing  at  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hail  in  his  absence. 

O’Grady,  on  leaving  the  breakfast-table*  retired  to  his 
justice-room  to  transact  business*  a principal  feature  in 
which  was  the  examination  of  Handy  Andy*  touching  the 
occurrences  of  the  evening  he  drove  Furlong  to  Merry  vale: 
for  though  Andy  was  clear  of  the  charge  for  which  he  had 
been  taken  into  custody*  namely*  the  murder  of  Furlong* 
O’Grady  thought  he  might  have  been  a party  to  some  con- 
spiracy to  drive  the  stranger  to  the  enemy’s  camp*  and 
therefore  put  him  to  the  question  very  sharply.  This  ex- 
amination he  had  set  his  heart  upon;  and  reserving  it  as  a 
benne  bouclie * dismissed  all  preliminary  cases  in  a very  off- 
hand manner*  just  as  men  carelessly  swallow  a few  oysters 
preparatory  to  dinner. 

As  for  Andy*  when  he  was  summoned  to  the  justice-room, 
he  made  sure  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  being  charged  with 
robbing  the  post-office*  and  cast  a sidelong  glance  at  the 
effigy  of  the  man  hanging  on  the  wall*  as  he  was  marched 
up  to  the  desk  where  O’Grady  sat  in  magisterial  dignity; 
and*  therefore*  when  he  found  it  was  only  for  driving  a 
gentleman  to  a wrong  house  all  the  bother  was  made*  his 
heart  was  lightened  of  a heavy  load*  and  he  answered 
briskly  enough.  The  string  of  question  and  reply  was 
certainly  an  entangled  one*  and  left  O’Grady  as  much  puz- 
zled as  before  whether  Andy  was  stupid  and  innocent*  or 
too  knowing  to  let  himself  be  caught — and  to  this  opinion 
he  clung  at  last.  In  the  course  of  the  inquiry*  he  found 
Andy  had  been  in  service  at  Merry  vale;  and  Andy*  telling 
him  he  knew  all  about  waiting  at  table*  and  so  forth*  and 
O’Grady  being  in  want  of  an  additional  man-servant  in  the 
house  while  his  honorable  guest*  Sackvilie  Scatterbrain, 
should  be  on  a visit  with  him*  Andy  was  told  he  should  be 
taken  on  trial  for  a month.  Indeed*  a month  was  as  long 
as  most  servants  could  stay  in  the  house — they  came  and 
Went  as  fast  as  figures  in  a magic-lantern. 

Andy  was  installed  in  his  new  place,  and  set  to  work  im- 


186 


handy  andY. 


mediately  scrubbing  up  extras  of  all  sorts*  to  make  the  re- 
ception of  the  honorable  candidate  for  the  county  as  brill- 
iant as  possible,  not  only  for  the  honor  of  the  house,  but 
to  make  a favorable  impression  on  the  coming  guest;  for 
Augusta,  the  eldest  girl,  was  marriageable,  and  to  her 
father's  ears  “ The  Honorable  Mrs.  Sackville  Scatterbrain  ” 
would  have  sounded  much  more  agreeably  than  “Miss 
O'Grady.” 

“Well — who  knows  ?”  said  O'Grady  to  his  wife;  “such 
things  have  come  to  pass.  Furbish  her  up,  and  make  her 
look  smart  at  dinner — he  has  a good  fortune,  and  will  be  a 
peer  one  of  these  days — worth  catching.  Tell  her  so.” 

Leaving  these  laconic  observations  and  directions  behind 
him,  he  set  off  to  the  neighboring  town  to  meet  Scatter- 
brain, and  to  make  a blow-up  at  the  post-office  about  the 
missing  letters.  This  he  was  the  more  anxious  to  do,  as 
the  post-office  was  kept  by  the  brother  of  M'Garry,  the 
apothecary;  and  since  O'Grady  had  been  made  to  pay  so 
dearly  for  thrashing  him,  he  swore  eternal  vengeance 
against  the  whole  family.  The  postmaster  could  give  no 
satisfactory  answer  to  the  charge  made  against  him,  and 
O'Grady  threatened  a complaint  to  head-quarters,  and 
prophesied  the  postmaster's  dismissal.  Satisfied  for  the 
present  with  this  piece  of  prospective  vengeance,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  inn,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  his  guest. 

In  the  interim,  at  the  Hall,  Mrs.  O'Grady  gave  Augusta 
the  necessary  hints,  and  recommended  a short  walk  to  im- 
prove her  color;  and  it  was  in  the  execution  of  this  order 
that  Miss  O'Grady's  perambulation  was  cut  short  by  the 
pelting  her  sweet  brothers  gave  her. 

The  internal  bustle  of  the  establishment  caught  the  at- 
tention of  the  dowager,  who  contrived  to  become  acquaint- 
ed with  its  cause,  and  set  about  making  herself  as  fasci- 
nating as  possible;  for  though,  in  the  ordinary  routine  of 
the  family  affairs,  she  kept  herself  generally  secluded  in 
her  own  apartments,  whenever  any  affair  of  an  interesting 
nature  was  pending,  nothing  could  make  her  refrain  from 
joining  any  company  which  might  be  in  the  house; — noth- 
ing;— not  even  O'Grady  himself.  At  such  times,  too,  she 
became  strangely  excited,  and  invariably  executed  one  piece 
of  farcical  absurdity,  of  which,  however,  the  family  con- 
trived to  confine  the  exercise  to  her  own  room.  It  was 
wearing  on  her  head  a tin  concern,  something  like  a chim« 


frANiJY  \KTt)Y. 


18? 


nev-cowl,  ornamented  by  a small  weather-cock,  after  the 
fashion  of  those  which  surmount  church-steeples;  this,  she 
£ declared,  influenced  her  health  wonderfully,  by  indicating 
^ the  valuation  of  the  wind  in  her  stomach,  which  she  main 
tained  to  be  the  grand  ruling  principle  of  human  existence. 
She  would  have  worn  this  head-dress  in  any  company,  had 
she  been  permitted,  but  the  terrors  of  her  son  had  sufficient 
influence  over  her  to  have  this  laid  aside  for  a more  seemly 
coiffure  when  she  appeared  at  dinner  or  in  the  drawing- 
room; but  while  she  yielded  really  through  fear,  she  af 
fected  to  be  influenced  through  tenderness  to  her  son's  in- 
firmity of  temper. 

“It  is  very  absurd,"  she  would  say,  “ that  Gustavus 
should  interfere  with  my  toilet;  but,  poor  fellow,  he's 
very  queer,  you  know,  and  I humor  him. " 

This  at  once  explains  why  Master  Batty  called  the  tinker 
“ the  milliner." 

It  will  not  be  wondered  at  that  the  family  carefully  ex- 
cluded the  old  lady  from  the  knowledge  of  any  exciting 
subject;  but  those  who  know  what  a talkative  race  children 
and  servants  are,  will  not  be  surprised  that  the  dowager 
sometimes  got  scent  of  proceedings  which  v/ere  meant  to  be 
kept  secret.  The  pending  election  and  the  approaching 
visit  of  the  candidate,  somehow  or  other,  came  to  her 
knowledge,  and,  of  course,  she  put  on  her  tin  chimney-pot. 
Thus  attired,  she  sat  watching  the  avenue  all  day;  and 
when  she  saw  O'Grady  return  in  a handsome  traveling-car- 
riage with  a stranger,  she  was  quite  happy  and  began  to  at- 
tire herself  in  some  ancient  finery,  rather  the  worse  foi 
wear,  and  which  might  have  been  interesting  to  an  anti 
quary. 

The  house  soon  rang  with  bustle — bells  rang  and  foot* 
steps  rapidly  paced  passages,  and  pattered  up  and  down- 
stairs. Andy  was  the  nimblest  at  the  hall-door  at  the  first 
summons  of  the  bell;  and,  in  a livery  too  short  in  the  arms 
and  too  wide  in  the  shoulders,  he  bustled  here  and  there, 
his  anxiety  to  be  useful  only  putting  him  in  everybody's 
way,  and  ending  in  getting  him  a hearty  cursing  from 
O'Grady. 

The  carriage  was  unpacked,  and  letter-boxes,  parcels, 
and  portmanteaus  strewed  the  hall.  Andy  was  desired  to 
barry  the  latter  to  “ the  gentleman's  room,"  and,  throwing 
the  portmanteau  over  has  shoulder,  he  ran  upstairs.  X£ 


188 


HANDY  ANDY. 


was  just  after  the  commotion  created  by  the  arrival  of  thf 
Honorable  Mr.  Scatterbrain  that  Furlong  returned  to  the 
house,  wet  and  weary. 

. He  retired  to  his  room  to  change  his  clothes,  and  fancied 
he  was  now  safe  from  further  molestation,  with  an  inward 
protestation  that  the  next  time  the  Master  O'Gradys  caught 
him  in  their  company,  they  might  bless  themselves;  when 
he  heard  a loud  sound  of  bustling  near  his  door,  and  Miss 
Augusta's  voice  audibly  exclaiming,  “ Behave  yourself^ 
Ratty!— Gusty,  let  me  go!" — when,  as  the  words  were  ut- 
tered, the  door  of  his  room  shoved  open,  and  Miss  Augusta 
thrust  in,  and  the  door  locked  outside. 

Furlong  had  not  half  his  clothes  on.  Augusta  exclaimed, 
“ Gracious  me!" — first  put  up  her  hands  to  her  eyes,  and 
then  turned  her  face  to  the  door. 

Furlong  hid  himself  in  the  bed-curtains,  while  Ratty,  the 
vicious  little  rascal,  with  a malicious  laugh,  said,  “Now^ 
promise  you'll  not  tell  papa,  or  I'll  bring  him  up  here — and 
then,  how  will  you  be?" 

“ Ratty,  you  wretch!"  cried  Augusta,  kicking  at  the 
door,  “ let  me  out!" 

“Not  a bit,  till  you  promise." 

“ Oh,  fy,  Maste'  O'Gwady!"  said  Furlong. 

I'll  scream.  Ratty,  if  you  don't  let  me  out!"  cried  Au- 
gusta. 

“ If  you  screech,  papa  will  hear  you,  and  then  he'll  come 
up  and  kill  that  fellow  there." 

“Oh,  don't  squeam.  Miss  O'Gwady!"  said  Furlong,  very 
vivaciously,  from  the  bed-curtains;  “ don't  squeam,  pway !" 

“ I'm  not  squeamish,  sir,"  said  Miss  Augusta;  “ but  it's 
dreadful  to  be  shut  up  with  a man  who  has  no  clothes  on 
him.  Let  me  out.  Ratty — let  me  out!" 

“ Well,  will  you  tell  on  us?" 

“No." 

“ 'Pon  your  honor?" 

“ 'Ponmiy  honor,  no!  Make  haste!  Oh,  if  papa  knew 
©f  this!" 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  uttered,  when  the  heavy 
tramp  and  gruff  voice  of  O'Grady  resounded  in  the  passage, 
and  the  boys  scampered  off  in  a fright,  leaving  the  door 
locked. 

“ Oh,  what  will  become  of  me!"  said  the  poor  girl,  with 
the  extremity  of  terror  in  her  look — a terror  so  excessive# 


HANDY  ANDY. 


189 


that  she  was  quite  heedless  of  the  dishabille  of  Furlong, 
who  jumped  from  the  curtains.,  when  he  heard  O’Grady 
coming. 

“Don’t  be  fwightened,  Miss  O’Gwady,”  said  Furlong, 
half  frightened  to  death  himself.  “ When  we  explain  the 
affair — ” 

“ Explain!”  said  the  girl,  gasping.  “Oh,  you  don’t 
know  papa!” 

As  she  spoke,  the  heavy  tramp  ceased  at  the  door — a sharp 
tap  succeeded,  and  Furlong’s  name  was  called  in  the  gruff 
voice  of  the  Squire. 

^ 1-1  " " rnlate  a response. 


“ I am  not  dwessed,  sir,”  answered  Furlong. 

“ No  matter,”  said  the  Squire;  “you’re  not  a woman." 
Augusta  wrung  her  hands. 

“ I’ll  be  down  with  you  as  soon  as  I am  dwessed,  sir,” 
replied  Furlong. 

“ I want  to  speak  to  you  immediately — and  here  are  let- 
ters for  you — open  the  door.  ” 

Augusta  signified  by  signs  to  Furlong  that  resistance 
would  be  vain;  and  hid  herself  under  the  bed. 

“ Come  in,  sir,”  said  Furlong,  when  she  was  secreted. 

“ The  door  is  fastened,”  said  O’Grady. 

“ Turn  the  key,  sir,”  said  Furlong. 

O’Grady  unlocked  the  door,  and  was  so  inconsistent  a 

{jerson,  that  he  never  thought  of  the  impossibility  of  Fur- 
ong’s  having  locked  it,  but,  in  the  richest  spirit  of  bulls, 
asked  him  if  he  always  fastened  his  door  on  the  outside. 
Furlong  said  he  always  did. 

“What’s  the  matter  with  you?”  inquired  O’Grady. 
“ You’re  as  white  as  the  sheet  there;”  and  he  pointed  to 
the  bed  as  he  spoke. 

Furlong  grew  whiter  as  he  pointed  to  that  quarter. 

“ What  ails  you,  man?  Aren’t  you  well?” 

“ Wather  fatigued — but  I’ll  be  bette’  pwesently.  What 
do  you  wish  with  me,  sir?” 

“Here  are  letters  for  you — I want  to  know  what’s  in 
them — Scatterbrain’s  come — do  you  know  that?” 

“No — I did  not.” 

“ Don’t  stand  there  in  the  cold — go  on  dressing  yourself; 
111  sit  down  here  till  you  can  open  your  letters:  I want  to 


190 


HANDY  ANDY. 


tell  you  something  besides.”  O'Grady  took  a chair  as  ha 
spoke. 

Furlong  assumed  all  the  composure  he  could;  and  the 
girl  began  to  hope  she  should  remain  undiscovered,  and 
most  likely  she  would  have  been  so  lucky,  had  not  the 
Genius  of  Disaster,  with  aspect  malign,  waved  her  sable 
wand,  and  called  her  chosen  servant.  Handy  Andy,  to  her 
aid.  He,  her  faithful  and  unfailing  minister,  obeyed  the 
call,  and  at  that  critical  juncture  of  time  gave  a loud  knock 
at  the  chamber  door. 

“ Come  in,”  said  O'Grady. 

Andy  opened  the  door  and  popped  in  his  head.  “ I beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  I kem  for  the  jintleman's  port- 
mantle.” 

“ What  gentleman?”  asked  O'Grady. 

“ The  Honorable,  sir;  I tuk  his  portmantle  to  the 
wrong  room,  sir;  and  I'm  come  for  it  now,  bekase  he  wants 
it.” 

“ There's  no  po'tmanteau  here,”  said  Furlong.  3 

“ 0 yis,  sir,”  said  Andy;  “I  put  it  undher  the  bed.” 

“ Well,  take  it  and  be  off,”  said  O'Grady. 

“ No — no — no,”  said  Furlong,  “ don't  distu'b  my  woom, 
if  you  please,  till  I have  done  dwessing.” 

“But  the  Honorable  is  dhressing  too,  sir;  and  that's  why 
he  wants  the  portmantle.” 

“ Take  it,  then,”  said  the  Squire. 

Furlong  was  paralyzed,  and  could  offer  no  further  resist- 
ance: Andy  stooped,  and  lifting  the  valance  of  the  bed  to 
withdraw  the  portmanteau,  dropped  it  suddenly,  and  ex- 
claimed, “OLord!” 

“What's  the  matter?”  said  the  Squire. 

“ Nothin',  sir,”  said  Andy,  looking  scared. 

“Then  take  the  portmanteau,  and  be  hanged  to  you.” 

“ Oh,  I'll  wait  till  the  jintleman's  done,  sir,”  said  Andy, 
retiring. 

“ What  the  devil  is  all  this  about?”  said  the  Squire,  see- 
ing the  bewilderment  of  Furlong  and  Andy.  “ What  is  it 
at  all?”  and  he  stooped  as  he  spoke,  and  lifted  the  valance. 
But  here  description  must  end,  and  imagination  supply  the 
scene  of  fury  and  confusion  which  succeeded.  At  the  first 
fierce  volley  of  imprecation  O'Grady  gave  vent  to,  Andy 
ran  off  and  alarmed  the  family,  Augusta  screamed,  and 
JTurlong  held  for  support  by  the  bedpost,  while,  between 


HANDY  ANDY. 


; n 


1 


every  hurricane  of  oaths,  O'Grady  ran  to  the  door,  and 
shouted  for  his  pistols,  and  anon  returned  to  the  chambei 
to  vent  every  abusive  epithet  which  could  be  showered  on 
man  and  woman.  The  prodigious  uproar  soon  brought 
the  whole  house  to  the  spot;  Mrs.  O'Grady  and  the  two 
spare  girls  amongst  the  first;  Mat,  and  the  cook,  and  the 
scullion,  and  all  the  house-maids  in  rapid  succession;  and 
Scatterbrain  himself  at  last.  O'Grady  all  the  time  foaming 
at  the  mouth,  stamping  up  and  down  the  room,  shaking 
his  fist  at  Furlong,  and,  after  a volley  of  names  impossible 
to  remember  or  print,  always  concluding  with  the  phrase, 
“ Wait  till  I get  my  pistols!” 

“ Gusty,  dear,”  said  his  trembling  wife,  “ what  is  it  all 
about?” 

He  glared  upon  her  with  his  flashing  eyes,  and  said, 
“ Fine  education  you  give  your  children,  ma'am.  Where 
have  you  brought  up  your  daughters  to  go  to,  eh?” 

“To  church,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  O'Grady,  meekly;  for 
she  being  a Roman.  Catholic,  O'Grady  was  very  jealous  of 
his  daughters  being  reared  stanch  Protestants,  and  she, 
poor  simple  woman,  thought  that  was  the  drift  of  his  ques- 
tion. 


“Church,  my  eye,  woman!  Church,  indeed! — 'faith, 
she  ought  to  have  gone  there  before  she  came  where  I found 
her.  Tliunderan'ouns,  where  are  my  pistols?” 

“Where  has  she  gone  to,  my  love?”  asked  the  wife  in  a 
tremor. 

“ To  the  devil,  ma'am.  Is  that  all  you  know  about  it?” 
said  O'Grady.  “ And  you  wish  to  know  where  she  is?” 

“ Yes,  love,”  said  his  wife. 

“ Then  look  under  that  bed,  ma'am,  and  you'll  see  her 
Without  spectacles.” 

Mrs.  O'Grady  now  gave  a scream,  and  the  girls  and  the 
house-maids  joined  in  the  chorus.  Augusta  bellowed  from 
under  the  bed,  “Mamma!  mamma!  indeed  it's  all  Ratty 
— I never  did  it.” 

At  this  moment,  to  help  the  confusion,  a fresh  appear-* 
ance  made  its  way  into  the  room;  it  was  that  of  the  Dow-* 
ager  O'Grady — arrayed  in  all  the  by-gone  finery  of  faded 
full  dress,  and  the  tin  chimney-pot  on  her  head.  “ What 
is  this  all  about?”  she  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  authority 
“ though  my  weather-cock  tells  me  the  wind  is  nor'west, 
I did  not  expect  such  a storm.  Is  any  one  killed?” 


192 


HAKDY  AOTY. 


“ No,”  said  O’Grady;  “but  somebody  will  be  soon* 
Where  are  my  pistols?  Blood  and  fire!  will  nobody  bring 
me  my  pistols?” 

“ Here  they  are,  sir,”  said  Handy  Andy,  running  in. 

O’Grady  made  a rush  for  the  pistols,  but  his  mother  and 
his  wife  threw  themselves  before  him,  and  Scatterbrain 
shoved  Andy  outside  the  room. 

“ Confound  you,  you  numscull!  would  you  give  pistols 
into  the  hands  of  a frantic  man?” 

“ Sure,  he  ax’d  for  them,  sir.” 

“Get  out  o’  this,  you  blockhead!  Go  and  hide  them 
somewhere,  where  your  master  won’t  find  them.  ” 

Andy  retired,  muttering  something  about  the  hardness 
of  a servant’s  case,  in  being  scolded  and  called  names  for 
doing  his  master’s  bidding.  Scatterbrain  returned  to  the 
room,  where  the  confusion  was  still  in  full  bloom;  O’Grady 
swearing  between  his  mother  and  wife,  while  Furlong  en- 
deavored to  explain  how  the  young  lady  happened  to  be  in 
his  room;  and  she  kicking  in  hysterics  amidst  the  maids 
and  her  sisters,  while  Scatterbrain  ran  to  and  fro  between 
all  the  parties,  giving  an  ear  to  Furlong,  an  eye  to  O’Grady, 
and  smelling-salts  to  his  daughter. 

The  case  was  a hard  one  to  a milder  man  than  O’Grady 
— his  speculation  about  Scatterbrain  all  knocked  on  the 
head,  for  it  could  not  be  expected  he  would  marry  the  lady 
who  had  been  found  under  another  man’s  bed.  To  hush 
the  thing  up  would  be  impossible,  after  the  publicity  hi3 
own  fury  had  given  to  the  affair.  “ W ould  she  ever  be 
married  after  such  an  affair  was  eclate  ?”  The  question 
rushed  into  his  head  on  one  side,  and  the  answer  rushed  in 
at  the  other,  and  met  it  with  a plump  “ No!”— the  ques- 
tion and  answer  then  joined  hands  in  O’Grady’s  mind, 
and  danced  down  the  middle  to  the  tune  of  “ Haste  to  the 
wedding!” 

“Yes,”  he  said,  slapping  his  forehead,  “she  must  be 
married  at  once.”  Then,  turning  to  Furlong,  he  said, 
“ You’re  not  married,  I hope?” 

Furlong  acknowledged  he  was  not,  though  he  regretted 
the  moment  he  had  made  the  admission. 

“ ’Tis  well  for  you,”  said  O’Grady,  “ for  it  has  saved 
your  life.  You^ shall  marry  her,  then!”  He  never  thought 
of  asking  Furlong’s  acquiescence  in  the  measure.  “ Come 
here,  you  baggage!” he  cried  to  Augusta,  as  he  laid  hold  of 


BANDY  ANDY.S  193 

her  hand,  and  pulled  her  up  from  the  chair;  “ come  here! 
I intended  you  for  a better  man;  but  since  you  have  such 
a hang-dog  taste,  why,  go  to  him!”  And  he  shoved  her 
over  to  Furlong.  “There!”  he  said,  addressing  himy 
“take  her,  since  you  will  have  her.  We'll  speak  of  her 
fortune  after.” 

The  poor  girl  stood  abashed,  sobbing  aloud,  and  tears 
pouring  from  her  downcast  eyes.  Furlong  was  so  utterly 
taken  by  surprise  that  he  was  riveted  to  the  spot  where  he 
stood,  and  could  not  advance  a step  toward  his  drooping 
intended.  At  this  awkward  moment,  the  glorious  old 
dowager  came  to  the  rescue;  she  advanced,  tin  chimney-pot 
and  all,  and  taking  a hand  of  each  of  the  principals  in 
hers,  she  joined  them  together  in  a theatrical  manner, 
and  ejaculated,  with  a benignant  air,  “Bless  you,  my 
children!” 

In  the  midst  of  the  mingled  rage,  confusion,  fright,  and 
astonishment  of  the  various  parties  present,  there  was 
something  so  exquisitely  absurd  in  the  old  womans  pro- 
ceeding that  nearly  everyone  felt  inclined  to. laugh;  but 
the  terror  of  O'Grady  kept  their  risible  faculties  in  check. 
Fate,  however,  decreed  the  finale  should  be  comic;  for  the 
cook,  suddenly  recollecting  herself,  exclaimed,  “ Oh, 
murther!  the  goose  will  be  burned!”  and  ran  out  of  the 
room.  A smothered  burst  of  laughter  succeeded,  which 
roused  the  ire  of  O'Grady,  who,  making  a charge  right  and 
left  amongst  the  delinquents,  the  room  was  soon  cleared, 
and  the  party  dispersed  in  various  directions,  O'Grady's 
voice  rising  loud  above  the  general  confusion,  as  he  swore 
his  way  down-stairs,  kicking  his  mother's  tin  turban  before 
him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Canvassing  before  an  election  resembles  skirmishing 
before  a battle; — the  skirmishing  was  over,  and  the  arrival 
of  the  Honorable  Sackville  Scatterbrain  was  like  the  first 
gun  that  commences  an  engagement; — and  now  both 
parties  were  to  enter  on  the  final  struggle. 

A jolly  group  sat  in  Murphy's  dining-parlor  on  the  eve 
of  the  day  fixed  for  the  nomination.  Hitting  points  of 
speeches  were  discussed — plans  for  bringing  up  voters — ■ 
tricks  to  interrupt  the  business  of  the  opposite  party — cer- 


134 


HANDY  ANDY. 


tain  allusions  on  the  hustings  that  would  make  the  enemy 
lose  temper;  and,  above  all,  everything  that  could  cheer 
and  amuse  the  people,  and  make  them  rejoice  in  their 
cause. 

“ Oh,  let  me  alone  for  that  much,”  said  Murtough.  “ I 
have  engaged  every  piper  and  fiddler  within  twenty  miles 
round,  and  divil  a screech  of  a chanter*  or  a scrape  of  cat- 
cut  Scatterbrain  can  have  for  love  or  money — that's  one 
grand  point.” 

“ But,”  said  Tom  Durfy,  “ he  has  engaged  the  yeomanry 
band.” 

“ What  of  that?”  asked  Dick  Dawson;  “a  band  is  all 
very  well  for  making  a splash  in  the  first  procession  to  the 
hustings,  but  what  good  is  it  in  working  out  the  details?” 

“ What  do  you  call  details?”  said  Durfy. 

“ Why,  the  popular  tunes  in  the  public-houses  and  in 
the  tally-rooms,  while  the  fellows  are  waiting  to  go  up. 
Then  the  dances  in  the  evening — Wow! — won't  Scatter- 
brain's lads  look  mighty  shy  when  they  know  the  Eganites 
are  kicking  their  heels  to  ‘Moll  in  the  Wad,'  while  they 
haven't  a lilt  to  shake  their  bones  to?” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Murphy;  we'll  have  the  deserters  to 
our  cause  from  the  enemy's  camp  before  the  first  night  is 
over;  f wait  till  the  girls  know  where  the  fiddlers  are — and 
won't  they  make  the  lads  join  us!” 

“I  believe  a woman  would  do  a good  deal  for  a dance,” 
said  Doctor  Growling;  “ they  are  immensely  fond  of  salta- 
tory motion.  I remember,  once  in  my  life,  I used  to  flirt 
with  a little  actress  who  wras  a great  favorite  in  a provincial 
town  where  I lived,  and  she  was  invited  to  a ball  there,  and 
confided  to  me  that  she  had  no  silk  stockings  to  appear  in, 
and  without  them  her  presence  at  the  ball  was  out  of  the 
question.” 

“ That  was  a hint  to  you  to  buy  the  stockings,”  said 
Dick. 

“ No — you'reo  ut,”  said  Growling.  “ She  knew  I was  as 
poor  as  herself;  but  though  she  could  not  rely  on  my  purse, 
she  had  every  confidence  in  my  taste  and  judgment,  and 
consulted  me  on  a plan  she  formed  for  going  to  the  ball  in 
proper  twig.  Now,  what  do  you  think  it  was?” 

* The  principal  tube  of  a bagpipe. 

\ In  those  times  elections  often  lasted  many  days. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


195 


“To  go  in  cotton,  I suppose,"  returned  Dick. 

“ Out,  again,  sir — you'd  never  guess  it;  and  only  a woman 
could  have  hit  on  the  expedient;  it  was  the  fashion  in  those 
days  for  ladies  in  full  dress  to  wear  pink  stockings,  and  she 
proposed  'painting  her  legs!” 

“ Painting  her  legs!"  they  all  exclaimed. 

“Fact,  sir,"  said  the  doctor;  “ and  she  relied  on  me  for 
telling  her  if  the  cheat  was  successful — " 

“ And  was  it?"  asked  Durfy. 

“Don't  be  in  a hurry,  Tom,  I complied  on  one  con- 
dition— namely,  that  I should  be  the  painter." 

“ Oh,  you  villain!"  cried  Dick. 

“A  capital  bargain!"  said  Tom  Durfy. 

“But  not  a safe  covenant,"  added  the  attorney. 

“Don't  interrupt  me,  gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor.  “I 
got  some  rose-pink  accordingly,  and  I defy  all  the  hosiers 
in  Nottingham  to  make  a tighter  fit  than  I did  on  little 
Jinney;  and  a prettier  pair  of  stockings  I never  saw." 

“ And  she  went  to  the  ball?"  said  Dick. 

“She  did!" 

“ And  the  trick  succeeded?"  added  Durfy. 

“ So  completely,"  said  the  doctor,  “ that  several  ladies 
asked  her  to  recommend  her  dyer  to  them!  So  you  see  what 
a woman  will  do  to  go  to  a dance.  Poor  little  Jinney! — she 
was  a merry  minx.  By  the  bye,  she  boxed  my  ears  that 
night,  for  a joke  I made  about  the  stockings.  ‘ Jinney,' 
said  I,  ‘for  fear  your  stockings  should  fall  down  when 
you're  dancing,  hadn't  you  better  let  me  paint  a pair  of 
garters  on  them?"' 

The  fellows  laughed  at  the  doctor's  quaint  conceit  about 
the  garters,  but  Murphy  called  them  back  to  the  business 
of  the  election. 

“What  next?"  he  said,  “public-houses  and  tally-rooms 
to  have  pipers  and  fiddlers — ay — and  we'll  get  up  as  good 
a march,  too,  as  Scatterbrain,  with  all  his  yeomanry 
band — think  a cart  full  of  fiddlers  would  have  a fine  effect !" 

“If  we  could  only  get  a double-bass  amongst  them!" 
said  Dick. 

“Talking  of  double-basses,"  said  the  doctor,  “did 
you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the  sailor  in  an  admiral's  ship, 
who,  when  some  fine  concert  was  to  be  given  on  board — " 

“ Hang  your  concerts  and  stories!"  said  Murphy;  “let 
tts  go  on  with  the  election. " 


196 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“Oh,  the  doctor's  story!"  cried  Tom  Durfy  and  Dick 
Dawson  together. 

“Well,  sir/'  continued  the  doctor,  “a  sailor  was  hand- 
ing in,  over  the  side,  from  a boat  which  bore  the  instru- 
ments from  shore,  a great  lot  of  fiddles.  When  some 
tenors  came  into  his  hand  he  said  those  were  real  good- 
sized  fiddles;  and  when  a violoncello  appeared.  Jack,  sup- 
posing it  was  to  be  held  between  the  hand  and  the  shoulder, 
like  a violin,  declared  ‘ He  must  be  a strapping  chap  that 
fiddle  belonged  to!'  But  when  the  double-bass  made  its 
appearance,  ‘My  eyes  and  limbs!'  cried  Jack,  ‘I  would 
like  to  see  the  chap  as  plays  that! ! !'" 

“Well,  doctor,  are  you  done?"  cried  Murphy;  “for,  if 
you  are,  now  for  the  election.  You  say,  Dick,  Major 
Dawson  is  to  propose  your  brother-in-law?" 

“ Yes. 

“And  he'll  do  it  well,  too;  the  Major  makes  a very  good 
straightforward  speech." 

“ Yes,"  said  Dick;  “ the  old  cock  is  not  a bad  hand  at 
it.  But  I have  a suspicion  he's  going  to  make  a greater 
oration  than  usual  and  read  some  long  rigmarolish  old 
records. " 

“That  will  never  do,"  said  Murphy;  “as  long  as  a man 
looks  Pat  in  the  face,  and  makes  a good  rattling  speech 
‘out  o'  the  face,'  Pat  will  listen  to  him;  but  when  a lad 
takes  to  heavy  readings,  Pat  grows  tired.  We  must  per- 
suade the  Major  to  give  up  the  reading." 

“ Persuade  my  father!"  cried  Dick.  “When  did  you 
ever  hear  of  his  giving  up  his  own  opinion?" 

“If  he  could  be  prevailed  on  even  to  shorten — "said 
Murphy. 

“ Oh,  leave  him  to  me,"  said  Dick,  laughing;  “I'll take 
care  he'll  not  read  a word." 

“Manage  that,  Dick,  and  you're  a jewel!" 

“I  will,"  said  Dick.  “I'll  take  the  glasses  out  of  hi3 
spectacles  the  morning  of  the  nomination,  and  then  let  him 
read,  if  he  can." 

“ Capital,  Dick;  and  now  the  next  point  of  discussion 
is — " 

“Supper,  ready  to  come  up,  sir,"  said  a servant,  open- 
ing the  door. 

“ Then,  that's  the  best  thing  we  could  discuss,  boys," 
said  Murphy  to  his  friends — “ so  up  with  the  supper,  Dan* 


HANDY  ANDY. 


197 


Tip  with  the  supper!  Up  with  the  Egans!  Down  with 
the  Scatterbrains — hurrah!  well  beat  them  gayly.** 

“ Hollow  !**  said  Durfy. 

“Not  hollow/*  said  Dick;  “well  have  a tussle  for  it.** 
“So  much  the  better/*  cried  Murphy?  “I  would  not 
give  a fig  for  an  easy  victory — there*s  no  fun  in  it.  Give 
me  the  election  that  is  like  a race — now  one  ahead,  and 
then  the  other;  the  closeness  calling  out  all  the  energies  of 
both  parties — developing  their  tact  and  invention,  and,  at 
last,  the  return  secured  by  a large  majority.** 

“But  think  of  the  glory  of  a large  one/*  said  Dick. 

“ Ay,**  added  Durfy,  “besides  crushing  the  hope  of  a 
petition  on  the  part  of  your  enemy  to  pull  down  the  ma- 
jority.** 

“But  think  of  Murphy*s  enjoyment/*  said  the  doctor, 
“ in  defending  the  seat,  to  say  nothing  of  the  bill  of  costs.  ** 
“ You  have  me  there,  doctor/*  said  Murphy;  “ a fair  hit, 
I grant  you;  but  see,  the  supper  is  on  the  table.  To  it, 
my  lads;  to  it!  and  then  a jolly  glass  to  drink  success  to 
our  friend  Egan.** 

And  glass  after  glass  they  did  drink  in  all  sorts  and 
shapes  of  well-wishing  toasts;  in  short,  to  have  seen  the 
deep  interest  those  men  took  in  the  success  of  their  friend, 
might  have  gladdened  the  heart  of  a philanthropist;  though 
there  is  no  knowing  what  Father  Mathew,  had  he  flourished 
in  those  times,  might  have  said  to  their  overflowing  benev- 
olence. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  morning  of  nomination  which  dawned  on  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hall  saw  a motley  group  of  0*Grady*s  retainers 
assembling  in  the  stable-yard,  and  the  out-offices  rang  to 
laugh  and  joke  over  a rude  but  plentiful  breakfast — tea 
and  coffee,  there,  had  no  place — but  meat,  potatoes,  milk, 
beer,  and  whisky  were  at  the  option  of  the  body-guard, 
which  was  selected  for  the  honor  of  escorting  the  wild 
chief  and  his  friend,  the  candidate,  into  the  town.  Of  this 
party  was  the  yeomanry  band  of  which  Tom  Durfy  spoke, 
though,  to  say  the  truth,  considering  Tours  apprehensions 
on  the  subject,  it  was  of  slender  force.  One  trumpet,  one 
clarionet,  a fife,  a big  drum,  and  a pair  of  cymbals,  with 
a “real  nigger**  to  play  tnem,  were  all  they  could  muster. 


198 


HAKDY  AKDY. 


After  clearing  off  everything  in  the  shape  of  breakfast, 
the  “ musicianers ” amused  the  retainers,  from  time  to 
time,  with  a tune  on  the  clarionet,  fife,  or  trumpet,  while 
they  waited  the  appearance  of  the  party  from  the  house. 
Uproarious  mirth  and  noisy  joking  rang  round  the  dwelling, 
to  which  none  contributed  more  largely  than  the  trum- 

Eeter,  who  fancied  himself  an  immensely  clever  fellow,  and 
ad  a heap  of  cut-and-dry  jokes  at  his  command,  and  prac- 
tical drolleries  in  which  lie  indulged  to  the  great  enter- 
tainment of  all,  but  of  none  more  than  Andy,  who  was  in 
the  thick  of  the  row,  and  in  a divided  ecstasy  between  the 
“ blaky -moor's”  turban  and  cymbals  and  the  trumpeter’s 
jokes  and  music;  the  latter  articles  having  a certain  re- 
semblance, by  the  bye,  to  the  former  in  clumsiness  and 
noise,  and  therefore  suited  to  Andy^s  taste.  Whenever 
occasion  offered,  Andy  got  near  the  big  drum,  too,  and 
gave  it  a thump,  delighted  with  the  result  of  his  ambitious 
acliievement. 

Andy  was  not  lost  on  the  trumpeter:  “ Arrah,  maybe 
youM  like  to  have  a touch  at  these ?”  said  the  joker,  hold- 
ing up  the  cymbals. 

“Is it  hard  to  play  them,  sir?”  inquired  Andy. 

“ Hard!”  said  the  trumpeter;  “ sure  they^re  not  hard  at 
all — but  as  soft  and  smooth  as  satin  inside — just  feel  them 
— rub  your  fingers  inside.” 

Andy  obeyed;  and  his  finger  was  chopped  between  the 
two  brazen  plates.  Andy  roared,  the  by-standers  laughed, 
and  the  trumpeter  triumphed  in  his  wit.  Sometimes  he 
would  come  behind  an  unsuspecting  boor,  and  give,  close 
to  his  ear,  a discordant  bray  from  his  trumpet,  like  the 
note  of  a jackass,  which  made  him  jump,  and  the  crowd 
roar  with  merriment;  or,  perhaps,  when  the  clarionet  or 
the  fife  was  engaged  in  giving  the  people  a,  tune,  he  would 
drown  either,  or  both  of  them,  in  a wild  yell  of  his  instru- 
ment. As  they  could  not  make  reprisals  upon  him,  he 
had  his  own  way  in  playing  whatever  he  liked  for  his  au- 
dience; and  in  doing  so  indulged  in  all  the  airs  of  a great 
artist — pulling  out  one  crook  from  another — blowing 
through  them  softly,  and  shaking  the  moisture  from  them 
in  a tasty  style — arranging  them  with  a fastidious  nicety — 
then,  after  the  final  adjustment  of  the  mouth-piece,  lip- 
ping the  instrument  with  an  affectation  exquisitely  gro- 


HANDY  ANDY.'}  199 

tesque;  but  before  he  began  he  always  asked  for  another 
drink. 

“It's  not  for  myself/'  he  would  say,  “but  for  the 
thrumpet,  the  crayther;  the  divil  a note  she  can  blow  with- 
out a dhrop." 

Then,  taking  a mug  of  drink,  he  would  present  it  to  the 
bell  of  the  trumpet,  and  afterward  transfer  it  to  his  own 
lips,  always  bowing  to  the  instrument  first,  and  saying, 
“Your  health,  ma'am!" 

This  was  another  piece  of  delight  to  the  mob,  and  Andy 
thought  him  the  funniest  fellow  he  ever  met,  though  he 
did  chop  his  finger. 

“ Faix,  sir,  an'  it  is  dhry  work,  I'm  sure,  playing  the 
thing." 

“Dhry!"  said  the  trumpeter,  “'pon  my  ruffles  and 
tuckers — and  that's  a cambric  oath — it's  worse  nor  lime- 
burnin',  so  it  is — it  makes  a man's  throat  as  parched  as 
pays." 

“ Who  dar  says  pays?"  cried  the  drummer. 

“ Howld  your  prate!"  said  the  trumpeter,  elegantly,  and 
silenced  all  reply  by  playing  a tune.  " As  soon  as  it  was 
ended,  he  turned  to  Andy  and  asked  for  a cork. 

Andy  gave  it  to  him. 

The  man  of  jokes  affected  to  put  it  into  the  trumpet. 

“ What's  that  for,  sir?"  asked  Andy. 

“ To  bottle  up  the  music,"  said  the  trumpeter — “sure 
all  the  music  would  run  about  the  place  if  I didn't  do 
that." 

Andy  gave  a vague  sort  of  “ ha,  ha!"  as  if  he  were  not 
quite  sure  whether  the  trumpeter  was  in  jest  or  earnest, 
and  thought  at  the  moment  that  to  play  the  trumpet  and 

{tactical  jokes  must  be  the  happiest  life  in  the  world. 
Tilled  with  this  idea,  Andy  was  on  the  watch  how  he  could 
possess  himself  of  the  trumpet,  for  could  he  get  one  blast 
on  it,  he  would  be  happy:  a chance  at  last  opened  to  him; 
after  some  time,  the  lively  owner  of  the  treasure  laid  down 
his  instrument  to  handle  a handsome  blackthorn  which  one 
of  the  retainers  was  displaying,  and  he  made  some  flourishes 
with  the  weapon  to  show  that  music  was  not  his  only  ac- 
complishment. Andy  seized  the  opportunity  and  the 
trumpet,  and  made  off  to  one  of  the  sheds  where  they  had 
been  regaling;  and,  shutting  the  door  to  secure  himself 
from  observation,  he  put  the  trumpet  to  his  mouth  and 


HAHDY  AHBY* 


200 

distended  his  cheeks  near  to  bursting  with  the  violence  of 
his  efforts  to  produce  a sound;  but  all  his  puffing  was  un- 
availing for  some  minutes.  At  last  a faint  cracked  squeak 
answered  a more  desperate  blast  than  before*  and  Andy* 
was  delighted.  “Everything  must  have  a beginning,” 
thought  Andy*  “ and  may  be  Fll  get  a tune  out  of  it  yet/* 
He  tried  again*  and  increased  in  power;  for  a sort  of 
strangled  screech  was  the  result.  Andy  was  in  ecstasy* 
and  began  to  indulge  visions  of  being  one  day  a trumpeter; 
he  strutted  up  and  down  the  shed  like  the  original  he  so 
envied*  and  repeated  some  of  the  drolleries  he  heard  him 
utter.  He  also  imitated  his  actions  of  giving  a drink  to 
the  trumpet*  and  was  more  generous  to  the  instrument 
than  the  owner*  for  he  really  poured  about  half  a pint  of 
beer  down  its  throat:  then  he  drank  its  health*  and  finished 
by  “bottling  up  the  music,"  absolutely  cramming  a cork 
into  the  trumpet.  Now  Andy*  having  no  idea  the  trump- 
eter made  a sham  of  the  action*  made  a vigorous  plunge 
of  a goodly  cork  into  the  throat  of  the  instrument*  and*  in 
so  doing,  the  cork  went  further  than  he  intended : he  tried 
to  withdraw  it*  but  his  clumsy  fingers*  instead  of  extricat- 
ing* only  drove  it  deeper — he  became  alarmed — and*  seiz- 
ing a fork*  strove  with  its  assistance  to  remedy  the  mischief 
he  had  done*  but  the  more  he  poked*  the  worse:  and*  in 
his  fright*  he  thought  the  safest  thing  he  could  do  was  to  ' 
cram  the  cork  out  of  sight  altogether*  and  having  soon 
done  that*  he  returned  to  the  yard*  and  laid  down  the 
trumpet  unobserved. 

Immediately  after  the  procession  to  the  town  started* 
O’Grady  gave  orders  that  the  party  should  not  be  throwing 
away  their  powder  and  shot*  as  he  called  it*  in  untimely 
huzzas  and  premature  music.  “ Wait  till  you  come  to  the 
town*  boys*”  said  he*  “ and  then  you  may  smash  away  as 
hard  as  you  can*  blow  your  heads  off*  and  split  the  sky.” 

The  party  of  Merryvale  was  in  motion  for  the  place  of 
action  about  the  same  time*  and  a merrier  pack  of  rascals 
never  was  on  the  march.  Murphy*  in  accordance  with  his 
preconceived  notions  of  a ‘ c fine  effect*”  had  literally  “ a*@art 
full  of  fiddlers;”  but  the  fiddlers  hadn’t  it  all  to  themselves* 
for  there  was  another  cart  full  of  pipers;  and*  by  way  of 
mockery  to  the  grandeur  of  Scatterbrain’s  band*  he  had 
four  or  five  boys  with  gridirons*  which  they  played  upon 
With  pokers,  and  half  a dozen  strapping  fellows  carrying 


HAHDY  AXBY.  201 

large  iron  tea-trays,  which  they  whopped  after  the  manner 
of  a Chinese  gong. 

It  so  happened  that  the  two  roads  from  Merryvale  and 
Heck-or-notliing  Hall  met  at  an  acute  angle,  at  the  same 
end  of  the  town,  and  it  chanced  that  the  rival  candidates 
and  their  retinues  arrived  at  this  point  about  the  same  time. 

“There  they  are !"  said  Murphy,  who  presided  in  the 
cartfull  of  fiddlers  like  a leader  in  an  orchestra,  with  a 
shillelah  for  his  baton , which  he  flourished  over  his  head  as 
he  shouted,  “How  give  it  to  them,  your  sowls! — rasp  and 
lilt  away,  boys! — slate  the  gridirons,  Mike! — smaddher  the 
tay-tray,  Tom!" 

The  uproar  of  strange  sounds  that  followed,  shouting  in- 
cluded, may  be  easier  imagined  than  described;  and  OTba- 
dy,  answering  the  war-cry,  sung  out  to  his  band — “What 
are  you  at,  you  lazy  rascals? — don't  you  hear  them  black- 
guards beginning? — fire  away,  and  be  hanged  to  you!"  Hk 
rascals  shouted,  bang  went  the  drum,  and  clang  went  the 
cymbals,  the  clarionet  squeaked,  and  the  fife  tootled,  but 
the  trumpet — ah! — the  trumpet — their  great  reliance — 
Y/here  was  the  trumpet?  CTGrady  inquired  in  the  precise 
words,  with  a diabolical  addition  of  his  own.  “Where  the 

d is  the  trumpet?"  said  he;  he  looked  over  the  side  of 

the  carriage  as  he  spoke,  and  saw  the  trumpeter  spitting 
out  a mouthful  of  beer  which  had  run  from  the  instrument 
as  he  lifted  it  to  his  mouth. 

“Bad  luck  to  you,  what  are  you  wasting  your  time  for?" 
thundered  (TGrady  in  a rage;  “why  didn't  you  spit  out 
When  you  were  young,  and  youM  be  a clean  old  man? 
Blow  and  be  d to  you!" 

The  trumpeter  filled  his  lungs  for  a great  blast,  and  put 
the  trumpet  to  his  lips— but  in  vain;  Andy  had  bottled  his 
music  for  him.  (BGrady,  seeing  the  inflated  cheeks  and 
protruding  eyes  of  the  musician,  whose  visage  was  crimson 
with  exertion,  and  yet  no  sound  produced,  thought  the  fel- 
low was  practicing  one  of  his  jokes  upon  him,  and  became 
excessively  indignant;  he  thundered  anathemas  at  him,  but. 
his  voice  was  drowned  in  the  din  of  the  drum  and  cymbals, 
Which  were  plied  so  vigorously,  that  the  clarionet  and  fife 
shared  the  same  fate  as  (BGrady^s  voice.  The  trumpeter 
could  judge  of  (BGrady's  rage  from  the  fierceness  of  his 
actions  only,  and  answered  him  in  pantomimic  expression* 
holding  up  his  trumpet  and  pointing  into  the  bell,  with  a 


202  EAKDY  AtD?. 

grin  of  vexation  on  his  pliiz,  meant  to  express  something 
was  wrong;  but  this  was  all  mistaken  by  the  fierce  O'Gra- 
dy, who  only  saw  in  the  trumpeter's  grins  the  insolent  in- 
tention of  gibing  him. 

“Blow,  you  blackguard,  blow!”  shouted  the  Squire. 
Bang  went  the  drum. 

“Blow — or  I'll  break  your  neck!”  Crash  went  the  cym- 
bals. 

“ Stop  your  banging  there,  you  ruffians,  and  let  me  be 
heard!”  roared  the  excited  man;  but  as  he  was  standing  up 
on  the  seat  of  the  carriage,  and  fiung  his  arms  about  wildly 
as  he  spoke,  the  drummer  thought  his  action  was  meant  to 
stimulate  him  to  further  exertion,  and  he  banged  away 
louder  than  before. 

“By  the  hokey,  I'll  murder  some  o'  ye!”  shouted  the 
Squire,  who,  ordering  the  carriage  to  pull  up,  flung  open 
the  door  and  jumped  out,  made  a rush  at  the  drummer, 
seized  his  principal  drumstick,  and  giving  him  a bang  over 
the  head  with  it,  cursed  him  for  a rascal  for  not  stopping 
when  he  told  him;  this  silenced  all  the  instruments  to- 
gether, and  O'Grady,  seizing  the  trumpeter  by  the  back  of 
the  neck,  shook  him  violently,  while  he  denounced  with 
fierce  imprecations  his  insolence,  in  daring  to  practice  a joke 
on  him.  The  trumpeter  protested  his  innocence,  and 
O'Grady  called  him  a lying  rascal,  finishing  his  abuse  by  Q 
clinching  his  fist  in  a menacing  attitude,  and  telling  him 
to  play.  <1 

“ I can't,  yer  honor!”  * 

“You  lie,,  you  scoundrel.” 

“ There's  something  in  the  trumpet,  sir.” 

“ Yes,  there's  music  in  it;  and  if  you  don't  blow  it  out 
of  it—” 

“I  can't  blow  it  out  of  it,  sir.” 

“ Hold  your  prate,  your  ruffian;  blow  this  minute.” 

“ Arrah,  thry  it  yourself,  sir,”  said  the  frightened  man, 
handing  the  instrument  to  the  Squire. 

“D — n your  impudence,  you  rascal;  do  you  think  I'd 
blow  anything  that  was  in  your  dirty  mouth?  Blow,  I tell 
you,  or  it  will  be  worse  for  you.” 

“ By  the  vartue  o'  my  oath,  your  honor — ” 

“Blow,  I tell  you!” 

“ By  the  seven  blessed  candles — ” > ; * { 

“ Blow,  I tell  youl”  y 


SANDY  ANDY. 


m 


' “The  trumpet  is  choked,  sir.” 

“ There  will  be  a trumpeter  choked,  soon,”  said  O’G • r, 
gripping  him  by  the  neck-handkerchief,  with  his  knuc^.  jS 
ready  to  twist  into  his  throat.  “ By  this  and  that  111 
strangle  you,  if  you,  if  you  don’t  play  this  minute,  you 
hnmbugger.” 

“ By  the  Blessed  Virgin,  Fm  not  humbugging  your 
honor,”  stammered  the  trumpeter  with  the  little  breath 
O’Grady  left  him. 

Scatterbrain,  seeing  O’Grady’s  fury,  and  fearful  of  its 
consequences,  had  alighted  from  the  carriage  and  came  to 
the  rescue,  suggesting  to  the  infuriated  Squire  that  what 
the  man  said  might  be  true.  O’Grady  said  he  knew  bet- 
ter, that  the  blackguard  wras  a notorious  joker,  and  having 
indulged  in  a jest  in  the  first  instance,  was  now  only  lying 
to  save  himself  from  punishment;  furthermore,  swearing 
that  if  he  did  not  play  that  minute  he’d  throw  him  imo  the 
ditch. 

With  great  difficulty  O’Grady  was  prevailed  upon  to  give 
up  the  gripe  of  the  trumpeter's  throat;  and  the  poor  breath- 
less wretch,  handing  the  instrument  to  the  clarionet-player, 
appealed  to  him  if  it  were  possible  to  play  on  it.  The 
clarionet-player  said  he  could  not  tell,  for  he  did  not  under- 
stand the  trumpet. 

“ You  see  there!”  cried  O’Grady.  “ You  see  he’s  hum- 
bugging, and  the  clarionet-player  is  an  honest  man.” 

“ An  honest  man!”  exclaimed  the  trumpeter,  turning 
fiercely  on  the  clarionet-player.  “He’s  the  biggest  villain 
unhanged  for  sthrivin’  to  get  me  murthered,  and  refusin’ 
the  evidence  for  me!”  The  man’s  eyes  flashed  fury  as  he 
spoke,  and  throwing  his  trumpet  down,  “Mooney! — by 
jakers,  you’re  no  man!”  Clinching  his  fist  as  he  spoke,  he 
made  a rush  on  the  clarionet-player,  and  planted  a hit  on 
his  mouth  with  such  vigor,  that  he  rolled  in  the  dust;  and 
when  he  rose,  it  was  with  such  an  upper  lip  that  his 
clarionet-playing  was  evidently  finished  for  the  next  week 
certainly. 

How  the  fifer  was  the  clarionet-player’s  brother;  and  he, 
turning  on  the  trumpeter,  roared: 

“Bad  luck  to  you! — you  did  not  sthrek  him  fair!” 

But  while  in  the  very  act  of  reprobating  the  foul  blow,  he 
let  fly  under  the  ear  of  the  trumpeter,  who  was  quite  un- 
prepared for  it — and  he,  too,  measured  his  length  on  the 


204 


HAKDY  AHDY. 


road.  On  recovering  his  legs,  he  rushed  on  the  fifer  for 
revenge,  and  a regular  scuffle  ensued  among  the  “ musi- 
cianers,"  to  the  great  delight  of  the  crowd  of  retainers,  who 
were  so  well  primed  with  whisky  that  a fight  was  just  the 
, thing  to  their  taste. 

In  vain  O'Grady  swore  at  them,  and  went  amongst  them, 
striving  to  restore  order,  but  they  would  not  be  quiet  till 
several  black  eyes  and  damaged  noses  bore  evidence  of  a 
busy  five  minutes  having  passed.  In  the  course  of  the 
“ scrimmage."  Fate  was  unkind  to  the  fifer,  whose  mouth' 
piece  was  considerably  impaired;  and  “ the  boys  " remarked 
that  the  worst  stick  you  could  have  in  a crowd  was  a 
“ whistling  stick;"  by  which  name  they  designated  the  fifer's 
instrument. 

At  last,  however,  peace  was  restored,  and  the  trumpeter 
again  ordered  to  play  by  O’Grady. 

He  protested  again,  it  was  impossible. 

The  fifer,  in  revenge,  declared  he  was  only  humbugging 
the  Squire. 

Hereupon  O'Grady,  seizing  the  unfortunate  trumpeter, 
gave  him  a more  sublime  kicking  than  ever  fell  to  the  lot 
of  even  piper  or  fiddler,  whose  pay*  is  proverbially  oftener 
in  that  article  than  the  coin  of  the  realm. 

Having  tired  himself,  and  considerably  rubbed  down  the 
toe  of  his  boot  with  his  gentlemanly  exercise,  O' Grady 
dragged  the  trumpeter  to  the  ditch,  and  rolled  him  into  it, 
there  to  cool  the  fever  which  burned  in  his  seat  of  honor. 

O'Grady  then  re-entered  the  carriage  with  Scatterbrain, 
and  the  party  proceeded;  but  the  clarionet-player  could  not 
blow  a note;  the  fifer  was  not  in  good  playing  condition, 
and  tootled  with  some  difficulty;  the  drummer  was  obliged 
now  and  then  to  relax  his  efforts  in  making  a noise  that  he 
might  lift  his  right  arm  to  his  nose,  which  had  got  damaged 
in  the  fray,  and  the  process  of  wiping  his  face  with  his  cuff 
changed  the  white  facings  of  his  jacket  to  red.  The  negro 
cymbal-player  was  the  only  one  whose  damages  were  not  to 
be  ascertained,  as  a black  eye  would  not  tell  on  him,  and 
his  lips  could  not  be  more  swollen  than  nature  had  made 
them.  On  the  procession  went,  however;  but  the  rival 
mob,  the  Eganites,  profiting  by  the  delay  caused  by  the 
row,  got  ahead,  and  entered  the  town  first,  with  their 

> * Fiddlers'  fare,  or  pipers'  pay— more  kicks  than  halfpence. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


20|> 

pipers  and  fiddlers*  hurrahing  their  way  in  good  humor 
down  the  street*  and  occupying  the  best  places  in  the  court-* 
house  before  the  arrival  of  the  opposite  party*  whose  band* 
instead  of  being  a source  of  triumph*  was  only  a thing  of 
jeering  merriment  to  the  Eganites*  who  received  them  with 
mockery  and  laughter.  All  this  by  no  means  sweetened 
(EGrady’s  temper*  who  looked  thunder  as  he  entered  the 
court-house  with  his  candidate*  who  was*  though  a good- 
humored  fellow*  a little  put  out  by  the  accidents  of  the 
morning;  and  Furlong  looked  more  sheepish  than  ever*  as 
he  followed  his  leaders. 

The  business  of  the  day  was  opened  by  the  high-sheriff* 
‘and  Major  Dawson  lost  no  time  in  rising  to  propose*  that 
Edward  Egan*  Esquire*  of  Merryvale*  was  a fit  and  proper 
person  to  represent  the  county  in  parliament. 

The  proposition  was  received  with  cheers  by  “ the  boys  ” 
in  the  body  of  the  court-house;  the  Major  proceeded*  full 
sail*  in  his  speech — his  course  aided  by  being  on  the  popu- 
lar current*  and  the  “ sweet  voices”  of  the  multitude 
blowing  in  his  favor.  On  concluding  (as  “the  boys” 
thought)  his  address*  which  was  straightforward  and  to  the 
point*  a voice  in  the  crowd  proposed  “ Three  cheers  for  the 
owld  Major.”  Three  deafening  peals  followed  the  hint. 

“ And  now*”  said  the  Major*  “ I will  read  a few  extracts 
here  from  some  documents*  in  support  of  what  I have  had 
the  honor  of  addressing  to  you.”  And  he  pulled  out  a 
bundle  of  papers  as  he  spoke*  and  laid  them  down  before 
him. 

The  movement  was  not  favored  by  “the  boys*”  as  it  in- 
dicated a tedious  reference  to  facts  by  no  means  to  their 
taste*  and  the  same  voice  that  suggested  the  three  cheers* 
how  sung  out: 

“ Never  mind*  Major — sure  weTl  take  your  word  for  it!” 

Cries  of  “ Order!”  and  “ Silence!”  ensued;  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  murmurs*  coughs*  and  sneezes*  in  the  crowd* 
with  a considerable  shuffling  of  hobnailed  shoes  on  the 
pavement. 

“ Order!”  cried  a voice  in  authority 

“ Order  anything  you  plaze*  sir!”  said  the  voice  in  the 
crowd. 

“Whisky!”  cried  one. 

“Porther!”  cried  another. 

“Tabakky!”  reared  a third. 


20S 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“I  mast  insist  on  silence!”  cried  the  sheriff*  in  a very 
husky  voice.  “ Silence! — or  I’ll  have  the  court-house 

cleared.  ” 

“ Faith*  if  you  cleared  your  own  throat  it  would  be 
better*”  said  the  wag  in  the  crowd. 

A laugh  followed.  The  sheriff  felt  the  hit*  and  was 
silent. 

The  Major  all  this  time  had  been  ad j usting  his  spectacles 
on  his  nose*  unconscious*  poor  old  gentleman*  that  Dick* 
according  to  promise*  had  abstracted  the  glasses  from  them 
that  morning.  He  took  up  his  documents  to  read*  made 
sundry  wry  faces*  turned  the  papers  up  to  the  light — now 
on  this  side*  and  now  on  that — but  could  make  out  noth- 
ing; while  Dick  gave  a knowing  wink  at  Murphy.  The  old 
gentleman  took  off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  the  glasses. 

The  voice  in  the  crowd  cried*  “ Thank  you*  Major.” 

The  Major  pulled  out  his  handkerchief*  and  his  fingers 
met  where  he  expected  to  find  a lens: — he  looked  very 
angry*  cast  a suspicious  glance  at  Dick*  who  met  it  with 
the  composure  of  an  anchorite*  and  quietly  asked  what  was 
the  matter. 

“I  shall  not  trouble  you*  gentlemen*  with  the  extracts*” 
said  the  Major. 

“ Hear*  hear*”  responded  the  genteel  part  of  the  audi- 
tory. 

“I  told  you  we'd  take  your  word*  Major*”  cried  the 
voice  in  the  crowd. 

Egan’s  seconder  followed  the  Major*  and  the  crowd 
shouted  again.  O’Grady  now  came  forward  to  propose 
the  Honorable  Sackville  Scatterbrain*  as  a fit  and  proper 
person  to  represent  the  county  in  parliament.  He  was  re- 
ceived by  his  own  set  of  vagabonds  with  uproarious  cheers* 
and  “O’Grady  forever!”  made  the  walls  ring.  “Egan 
forever!”  and  hurras*  were  returned  from  the  Merry- 
valians.  O’Grady  thus  commenced  his  address: 

“In  coming  forward  to  support  my  honorable  friend*  the 
Honorable  Sackville  Scatterbrain*  it  is  from  the  conviction 
— the  conviction — ” 

“ Who  got  the  conviction  agen  the  potteen  last  sishin?” 
said  the  voice  in  the  crowd. 

Loud  groans  followed  this  allusion  to  the  prosecution  of 
a few  little  private  stills*  in  which  O’Grady  had  shown 


HANDY  ANDY.  30? 

Borne  unnecessary  severity  that  made  him  unpopular. 
Cries  of  “ Order!"  and  “ Silence!"  ensued. 

“I  say  the  conviction,”  repeated  O'Grady  fiercely,  look- 
ing toward  the  quarter  whence  the  interruption  took  place, 
“ and  if  there  is  any  blackguard  here  who  dares  to  inter* 
rupt  me.  I'll  order  him  to  be  taken  out  by  the  ears.  I say, 
I propose  my  honorable  friend,  the  Honorable  SackviUe 
Scatterbrain,  from  the  conviction  that  there  is  a necessity 
in  this  county — ” 

“ Faith,  there  is  plenty  of  necessity,”  said  the  tormentor 
in  the  crowd. 

“ Take  that  man  out,”  said  the  sheriff. 

“ Don't  hurry  yourself,  sir,”  returned  the  delinquent, 
amidst  the  laughter  of  “the  boys,”  in  proportion  to 
whose  merriment  rose  O'Grady's  ill-humor. 

“ I say  there  is  a necessity  for  a vigorous  member  to 
represent  this  county  in  parliament,  and  support  the  laws, 
the  constitution,  the  crown,  and  the — the — interests  of  the 
county!” 

“Who  made  the  new  road?”  was  the  question  that  now 
arose  from  the  crowd — a laugh  followed — and  some  groans 
at  this  allusion  to  a bit  of  jobbing  on  the  part  of  O'Grady, 
who  got  a grand  jury  presentment  to  make  a road  which 
served  nobody's  interest  but  his  own. 

“The  frequent  interruptions  I meet  here  from  the  law-* 
less  and  disaffected  show  too  plainly  that  we  stand  in  need 
of  men  who  will  support  the  arm  of  the  law  in  purging  the 
country.  * 

“ Yfho  killed  the  'pothecary?”  said  a fellow,  in  a voice  so 
deep  as  seemed  fit  only  to  issue  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

The  question  and  the  extraordinary  voice  in  which  it  was 
uttered,  produced  one  of  those  roars  of  laughter  which 
sometimes  shake  public  meetings  in  Ireland;  and  O'Grady 
grew  furious. 

“ If  I knew  who  that  gentleman  was.  I'd  pay  him!”  said 

he. 

“ You'd  better  pay  them  you  Tcnow ,”  was  the  answer; 
and  this  allusion  to  O'Grady's  notorious  character  of  a bad 

E,  was  relished  by  the  crowd,  and  again  raised  the 
against  him. 

“Sir,”  said  O'Grady,  addressing  the  sheriff,  “I  hold 
this  ruffianism  in  contempt.  I treat  it,  and  the  authors  of 
it,  those  who  no  doubt  have  instructed  them,  with  con- 


208 


UA2TDY  AHBT. 


tempt.  " He  looked  over  to  where  Egan  and  his  friend? 
stood,  as  he  spoke  of  the  crowd  having  had  instructions  tc 
interrupt  him. 

“If  you  mean,  sir,"  said  Egan,  “that  I have  given  anj 
such  instructions,  I deny,  in  the  most  unqualified  terms, 
the  truth  of  such  an  assertion." 

“Keep  yourself  coo],  Ned,"  said  Dick  Dawson,  close  tc 
his  ear. 

“Never  fear  me,"  said  Egan;  “but  I won't  let  him 
bully." 

The  two  former  friends  now  exchanged  rather  fierce 
looks  at  each  other. 

“ Then  why  am  I interrupted?"  asked  O'Grady. 

“ It  is  no  business  of  mine  to  answer  that,'**  replied  Egan) 
“ but  I repeat  the  unqualified  denial  of  your  assertion." 

The  crowd  ceased  its  noise  when  the  two  Squires  were 
seen  engaged  in  exchanging  smart  words,  in  the  hopes  of 
catching  what  they  said. 

“ It  is  a disgraceful  uproar,"  said  the  sheriff. 

“Then  it  is  your  business.  Mister  Sheriff,"  returned 
Egan,  “to  suppress  it — not  mine;  they  are  quiet  enough 
now." 

“Yes,  but  they'll  make  a wow  again,"  said  Eurlong, 
“ when  Miste'  O'Gwady  begins." 

“You  seem  to  know  all  about  it,"  said  Dick;  “may  be 
you  have  instructed  them." 

“ No,  sir,  I didn't  instwuct  them,"  said  Furlong,  very 
* ngry  at  being  twitted  by  Dick. 

Dick  laughed  in  his  face,  and  said,  “ Maybe  that's  some 
of  your  electioneering  tactics — eh?" 

Furlong  got  very  angry,  while  Dick  and  Murphy  shouted 
with  laughter  at  him — “No,  sir,"  said  Furlong,  “I  don't 
welish  the  pwactice  of  such  di'ty  twicks." 

“Do  you  apply  the  word  c dirty'  to  me,  sir?"  said 
Dick  the  Devil,  ruffling  up  like  a game-cock.  “ I'll  tell 
you  what,  sir,  if  you  make  use  of  the  word  * dirty ' again, 
I'd  think  very  little  of  kicking  you — ay,  or  eight  like  you 
— I'll  kick  eight  Furlongs  one  mile." 

“Who's  talking  of  kicking?"  asked  O'Grady. 

“ I am,"  said  Dick,  “ do  you  want  any?" 

“Gentlemen!  gentlemen!"  cried  the  sheriff,  “ order! 
pray  order!  do  proceed  with  the  business  of  the  day." 


HANDY  ANDY.  209 

€eYl\  talk  to  you  after  about  this!”  said  O'Grady,  in  a 
threatening  tone. 

“ Very  well,”  said  Dick;  “ we've  time  enough,  the  day's 
young  yet.” 

O'Grady  then  proceeded  to  find  fault  with  Egan,  censur- 
ing his  politics,  and  endeavoring  to  justify  his  defection 
from  the  same  cause.  He  concluded  thus:  “ Sir,  I shall 
pursue  my  course  of  duty;  I have  chalked  out  my  own  line 
of  conduct,  sir,  and  I am  convinced  no  other  line  is  the 
right  line.  Our  opponents  are  wrong,  sir — totally  wrong 
— all  wrong;  and,  as  I have  said,  I have  chalked  out  my 
own  line,  sir,  and  I propose  the  Honorable  Sackville  Scat- 
terbrain as  a fit  and  proper  person  to  sit  in  Parliament  for 
the  representation  of  this  country.” 

The  O'Gradyites  shouted  as  their  chief  concluded,  and 
the  Merry valians  returned  some  groans,  and  a cry  of  “ Go 
home,  turncoat!” 

Egan  now  presented  himself,  and  was  received  with  deaf- 
ening and  long-continued  cheers,  for  he  was  really  beloved 
by  the  people  at  large;  his  frank  and  easy  nature,  the 
amiable  character  he  bore  in  all  his  social  relations,  the 
merciful  and  conciliatory  tendency  of  his  decisions  and  con- 
duct as  a magistrate,  won  him  the  solid  respect  as  well  as 
affection  of  the  country. 

He  had  been  for  some  days  in  low  spirits  in  consequence 
of  Larry  Hogan's  visit  and  mysterious  communication  with 
him;  but  this,  its  cause,  wTas  unknown  to  all  but  himself, 
and  therefore  more  difficult  to  support;  for  none  but  those 
whom  sad  experience  has  taught  can  tell  the  agony  of  en- 
during in  secret  and  in  silence  the  pang  that  gnaws  a proud 
heart,  which,  Spartan-like,  will  let  the  tooth  destroy  with- 
out complaint  or  murmur. 

His  depression,  however,  was  apparent,  and  Dick  told 
Murphy  he  feared  Ned  would  not  be  up  to  the  mark  at  the 
election;  but  Murphy,  with  a better  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  the  excitement  of  such  a cause,  said,  “ Never 
fear  him — ambition  is  a long  spur,  my  boy,  and  will  stir 
the  blood  of  a thicker-skinned  fellow  than  your  brother-in- 
law.  When  he  comes  to  stand  up  and  assert  his  claims 
before  the  world,  he'll  be  all  right!” 

Murphy  was  a true  prophet,  for  Egan  presented  himself 
with  confidence,  brightness,  and  good-humor  on  his  open 
countenance. 


210 


HANDY  ANDY. 


€t  The  first  thing  I have  to  ask  of  you,  boys,”  said  Egan, 
addressing  the  assembled  throng,  “is  a fair  hearing  for  the 
other  candidate.” 

“Hear,  hear!”  followed  from  the  gentlemen  in  the 
gallery. 

“ And,  as  he's  a stranger  amongst  ns,  let  him  have  the 
privilege  of  first  addressing  you.  ” 

With  these  words  he  bowed  courteously  to  Scatterbrain, 
who  thanked  him  very  much  like  a gentleman,  and,  ac- 
cepting his  offer,  advanced  to  address  the  electors.  O'Grady 
waved  his  hand  in  signal  to  his  body-guard,  and  Scatter- 
brain had  three  cheers  from  the  ragamuffins. 

He  was  no  great  things  of  a speaker,  but  he  was  a good- 
humored  fellow,  and  this  won  on  the  Paddies;  and,  al- 
though coming  before  them  under  the  disadvantage  of 
being  proposed  by  O'Grady,  they  heard  him  with  good 
temper.  To  this,  however,  Egan's  good  word  consider- 
ably contributed. 

He  went  very  much  over  the  ground  his  proposer  had 
taken,  so  that,  bating  the  bad  temper,  the  pith  of  his 
speech  vras  much  the  same,  quite  as  much  deprecating  the 
political  views  of  his  opponent,  and  harping  on  O'Grady's 
worn-out  catch-word  of  “Having  chalked  out  a line  for 
himself,”  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Egan  now  stood  forward,  and  was  greeted  with  fresh 
cheers.  He  began  in  a very  Irish  fashion;  for,  being  an 
unaffected,  frank,  and  free-hearted  fellow  himself,  he 
knew  how  to  touch  the  feelings  of  those  who  possess  such 
qualities.  He  waited  till  the  last  echo  of  the  uproarious 
greeting  died  away,  and  the  first  simple  words  he  uttered 
were — 

“ Here  I am,  boj^s!” 

Simple  as  these  w7ords  were,  they  produced  “ one  cheer 
more.” 

“ Here  I am,  boys — the  same  1 ever  was” 

Loud  huzzas  and  “Long  life  to  you!”  answered  the  last 
pithy  words,  which  were  sore  ones  to  O'Grady,  who,  as  a 
renegade,  felt  the  hit. 

“ Fellow-countrymen,  I come  forward  to  represent  you, 
and,  however  I may  be  unequal  to  that  task,  at  least  I 
Will  never  misrepresent  you.” 

Another  cheer  followed. 

A “ My  past  life  13  evidence  enough  on  that  point.  God 


HAHDY  AtfDY. 


211 


forbid  I were  of  the  mongrel  breed  of  Irishmen,  who  speak 
ill  of  their  own  country.  I never  did  it,  boys,  and  I never 
will!  Some  think  they  get  on  by  it,  and  so  they  do,  in- 
deed. They  get  on  as  sweeps  and  shoe-blacks  get  on — they 
drive  a dirty  trade  and  find  employment — but  are  they 
respected?" 

Shouts  of  “No! — no!" 

“ You're  right! — No! — they  are  not  respected — even  by 
their  very  employers.  Your  political  sweep  and  shoe-black 
is  no  more  respected  than  he  who  cleans  our  chimneys  or 
cleans  our  shoes.  The  honorable  gentleman  who  has 
addressed  you  last  confesses  he  is  a stranger  amongst  you ; 
and  is  he,  a stranger,  to  be  your  representative?  You  may 
be  civil  to  a stranger — it  is  a pleasing  duty — but  he  is  not 
the  man  to  whom  you  would  give  vour  confidence.  You 
might  share  a hearty  glass  with  a stranger,  but  you  would 
not  enter  into  a joint  lease  of  a farm  without  knowing  a 
little  more  of  him;  and  if  you  would  not  trust  a single 
farm  with  a stranger,  will  you  give  a whole  county  into 
his  hands?  When  a stranger  comes  to  these  parts,  I'm 
sure  he'll  get  a civil  answer  from  every  man  I see  here — he 
will  get  a civil  ‘ yes'  or  a civil  * no'  to  his  questions;  and 
if  he  seeks  his  way,  you  will  show  him  his  road.  As  to  the 
honorable  gentleman  who  has  done  you  the  favor  to  come 
and  ask  you  civilly,  will  you  give  him  the  county,  you  as 
civilly  may  answer  ‘No,'  and  show  him  his  road  home 
again . (‘So  we  will.')  As  for  the  gentleman  v/ho  pro- 
posed him,  he  has  chosen  to  make  certain  strictures  upon 
my  views,  and  opinions,  and  conduct.  As  for  views — there 
was  a certain  heathen  god  the  Romans  worshiped,  called 
Janus;  he  was  a fellow  with  two  heads — and,  by  the  bye, 
boys,  he  would  have  been  just  the  fellow  to  live  amongst 
us;  for  when  one  of  his  heads  was  broken  he  would  have 
had  the  other  for  use.  Well,  this  Janus  was  called  ‘ double- 
face,' and  could  see  before  and  behind  him.  Now,  I’m  no 
double-face , boys;  and  as  for  seeing  before  and  behind  me, 
I can  look  back  on  the  past  and  forward  to  the  future,  and 
both  the  roads  are  straight  ones . (Cheers.)  I wish 
every  one  could  say  as  much.  As  for  my  opinions,  all  I 
shall  say  is,  I never  changed  mine;  Mr.  O'Grady  can't  say 
as  much." 

^ “ Sure  there's  a weather-cock  in  the  family,"  said  a voice 
m the  crowd. 


HASTDY  AKDY. 


A loud  laugh  followed  this  sally,  for  the  old  dowager’s 
eccentricity  was  not  quite  a secret.  O’Grady  looked  as  if 
he  could  have  eaten  the  whole  crowd  at  a mouthful. 

“ Much  has  been  said/’ continued  Egan,  “ about  gentle- 
men chalking  out  lines  for  themselves;  now,  the  plain 
English  of  this  determined  chalking  of  their  oivn  line  is 
rubbing  out  every  other  man’s  line.  (Bravo. ) Some  of 
these  chalking  gentlemen  have  lines  chalked  up  against 
them,  and  might  find  it  difficult  to  pay  the  score  if  they 
were  called  to  account.  To  such,  rubbing  out  other  men’s 
lines,  and  their  own  too,  may  be  convenient;  but  I don’t 
like  the  practice.  Boys,  I have  no  more  to  say  than  this. 
We  know  and  can  trust  each  other!” 

Egan’s  address  was  received  with  acclamation,  and  when 
silence  was  restored,  the  sheriff  demanded  a show  of  hands; 
and  a very  fine  show  of  hands  there  was,  and  every  hand 
had  a stick  in  it! 

The  show  of  hands  was  declared  to  be  in  favor  of  Egan, 
whereupon  a poll  was  demanded  on  the  part  of  Scatter- 
brain, after  which  every  one  began  to  move  from  the  court- 
house. 

O’Grady,  in  very  ill-humor,  was  endeavoring  to  shove 

Sast  a herculean  fellow,  rather  ragged  and  very  saucy,  who 
id  not  seem  inclined  to  give  place  to  the  savage  elbowing 
of  the  Squire. 

“ What  brings  such  a ragged  rascal  as  you  here?”  said 
O’Grady,  brutally;  “you’re  not  an  elector.” 

“ Yis  I am!”  replied  the  fellow  sturdily. 

“ Why,  yon  can’t  have  a lease,  you  beggar/* 

“ No,  but  may  be  I have  an  article.”* 

“ What  is  your  article?” 

“What  is  it?”  retorted  the  fellow,  with  a fierce  look  at 
O’Grady.  “ Faith,  it’s  a fine  brass  blunderbuss;  and  I’d 
like  to  see  the  man  would  dispute  the  title.” 

O’Grady  had  met  his  master,  and  could  not  reply;  the 
crowd  shouted  for  the  ragamuffin,  and  all  parties  separated, 
to  gird  up  their  loins  for  the  next  day’s  poll. 

* A name  given  to  a written  engagement  between  landlord  and 
tenant,  promising  to  grant  a lease,  oh  which  registration  is  allowed 
in  Ireland, 


HANDY  ANDY. 


313 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

After  the  angry  words  exchanged  at  the  nomination, 
the  most  peaceable  reader  must  have  anticipated  the  proba- 
bility of  a duel — but  when  the  inflammable  stuff  of  which 
Irishmen  are  made  is  considered,  together  with  the  excite- 
ment and  pugnacious  spirit  attendant  upon  elections  in  all 
places,  the  certainty  of  a hostile  meeting  must  have  been 
apparent.  The  sheriff  might  have  put  the  gentlemen  under 
arrest,  it  is  true,  but  that  officer  was  a weak,  thoughtless, 
irresolute  person,  and  took  no  such  precaution;  though,  to 
do  the  poor  man  justice,  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  such  an 
intervention  of  authority  at  such  a time  and  place  would 
be  considered  on  all  hands  as  a very  impertinent,  unjusti- 
fiable, and  discourteous  interference  with  the  private  pleas- 
ures and  privileges  of  gentlemen. 

Dick  Dawson  had  a message  conveyed  to  him  from 
O'Grady,  requesting  the  honor  of  his  company  the  next 
morning  to  “ grass  before  breakfast!”  to  which,  of  course, 
Dick  returned  an  answer  expressive  of  the  utmost  readiness 
to  oblige  the  Squire  with  his  presence,  and,  as  the  business 
of  the  election  was  of  importance,  it  was  agreed  that  they 
should  meet  at  a given  spot  on  the  way  to  the  town,  and  so 
lose  as  little  time  as  possible. 

The  next  morning,  accordingly,  the  parties  met  at  the 
appointed  place,  Dick  attended  by  Edward  O'Connor  and 
Egan — the  former  in  capacity  of  his  friend;  and  O'Grady, 
with  Scatterbrain  for  his  second,  and  Furlong  a looker-on; 
there  were  some  straggling  spectators  besides,  to  witness  the 
affair. 

“ O'Grady  looks  savage,  Dick,”  said  Edward. 

“ Yes,”  answered  Dick,  with  a smile  of  as  much  uncon- 
cern as  if  he  were  going  to  lead  off  a country-dance.  “ He 
looks  as  pleasant  as  a bull  in  a pound.” 

“ Take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear  Dick,”  said  Edward 
seriously. 

‘ e My  dear  boy,  don't  make  yourself  uneasy,”  replied  Dick, 
laughing.  “ I'll  bet  you  two  to  one  he  misses  me.” 

Edward  made  no  reply,  but,  to  his  sensitive  and  more 
thoughtful  nature,  betting  at  such  a moment  savored  too 


214 


EAKDY 


much  of  levity,  so,  leaving  his  friend,  he  advanced  to 
Scatterbrain,  and  they  commenced  making  the  preliminary 
preparations. 

During  the  period  which  this  required  O'Grady  was  look- 
ing down  sulkily  or  looking  up  fiercely,  and  striking  his 
heel  with  vehemence  into  the  sod,  while  Dick  Dawson  was 
whistling  a planxty  and  eying  his  man. 

The  arrangements  were  soon  made,  and  the  men  placed 
on  their  ground,  and  Dick  saw  by  the  intent  look  with 
which  O'Grady  marked  him,  that  he  meant  mischief;  they 
were  handed  their  pistols — the  seconds  retired — the  vord 
was  given,  and  as  O'Grady  raised  his  pistol,  Dick  saw  he 
was  completely  covered,  and  suddenly  exclaimed,  throwing 
up  his  arms,  “ I beg  your  pardon  for  a moment.” 

O'Grady  involuntarily  lowered  his  weapon,  and  seeing 
Dick  standing  perfectly  erect,  and  nothing  following  his 
sudden  request  for  this  suspension  of  hostilities,  asked  in  a 
very  angry  tone,  why  he  had  interrupted  him.  “ Because 
I saw  you  had  me  covered,”  said  Dick,  “ and  you'd  have 
hit  me  if  you  had  fired  that  time;  now  fire  away  as  soon  as 
you  like,”  added  he,  at  the  same  moment  rapidly  bringing 
up  his  own  pistol  to  the  level. 

O'Grady  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  fancying  Dick  was 
going  to  blaze  at  him,  fired  hastily,  and  missed  his  ad- 
versary. 

Dick  made  him  a low  bow,  and  fired  in  the  air. 

O'Grady  wanted  another  shot,  saying  Dawson  had  tricked 
him,  but  Scatterbrain  felt  the  propriety  of  Edward  O'Con- 
nor's objection  to  further  fighting,  after  Dawson  receiving 
O'Grady's  fire;  so  the  gentlemen  were  removed  from  the 
ground  and  the  affair  terminated. 

O'Grady,  having  fully  intended  to  pink  Dick,  was  ex- 
cessively savage  at  being  overreached,  and  went  off  to  the 
election  with  a temper  by  no  means  sweetened  by  the 
morning's  adventure,  while  Dick  roared  with  laughing,  ex- 
claiming at  intervals  to  Edward  O'Connor,  as  he  was  put- 
ting up  his  pistols,  “ Did  not  I do  him  neatly?” 

Off  they  cantered  gayly  to  the  high-road,  exchanging 
merry  and  cheering  salutations  with  the  electors,  who  were 
thronging  toward  the  town  in  great  numbers  and  all  vari- 
ety of  manner,  group,  and  costume,  some  on  foot,  some 
on  horseback,  and  some  on  cars;  the  gayest  show  of  holi- 
day attire  contrasting  with  the  every-day  rags  of  wretched- 


UAKDY  ANDY. 


215 

ness;  the  fresh  cheek  of  health  and  beauty  making  gaunt 
misery  look  more  appalling,  and  the  elastic  step  of  vigor- 
ous youth  outstripping  the  tardy  pace  of  feeble  age.  Pe- 
destrians were  hurrying  on  in  detachmenfs  of  five  or  six — 
the  equestrians  in  companies  less  numerous;  sometimes 
the  cavalier  who  could  boast  a saddle  carrying  a woman  on 
a pillion  behind  him.  But  saddle  or  pillion  were  not  an 
indispensable  accompaniment  to  this  equestrian  duo,  for 
many  a “ bare-back  " garran  carried  his  couple,  his  only 
harness  being  a halter  made  of  hay-rope,  which  in  time  of 
need  sometimes  proves  a substitute  for  “ rack  and  man- 
ger,^ for  it  is  not  uncommon  in  Ireland  to  see  the  garran 
nibbling  the  end  of  his  bridle  when  opportunity  offers. 
The  cars  were  in  great  variety;  some  bore  small  kishes,* 
in  which  a woman  and  some  children  might  be  seen;  others 
had  a shake-down  of  clean  straw  to  serve  for  cushions; 
while  the  better  sort  spread  a feather-bed  for  greater  com- 
fort, covered  by  a patchwork  quilt,  the  work  of  the  “ good 
woman"  herself,  whose  own  quilted  petticoat  vied  in 
brightness  with  the  calico  roses  on  which  she  was  sitting. 
The  most  luxurious  indulged  still  further  in  some  arched 
branches  of  hazel,  which,  bent  above  the  car  in  the  fashion 
of  a booth,  bore  another  coverlid,  by  way  of  awning,  and 
served  for  protection  against  the  weather;  but  few  there 
were  who  could  indulge  in  such  a luxury  as  this  of  the 
“ chtoise  marine”  which  is  the  name  the  contrivance 
bears,  but  why.  Heaven  only  knows. 

The  street  of  the  town  had  its  center  occupied  at  the 
broadest  place  with  a long  row  of  cars,  covered  in  a simi- 
lar manner  to  the  chaise  marine , a door  or  shutter  laid 
across  underneath  the  awning,  after  the  fashion  of  a coun- 
ter, on  which  various  articles  were  displayed  for  sale;  for 
the  occasion  of  the  election  was  as  good  as  a fair  to  the 
small  dealers,  and  the  public  were  therefore  favored 
with  the  usual  opportunity  of  purchasing  uneatable  gin- 

ferbread,  knives  that  would  not  cut,  spectacles  to  increase 
lindness,  and  other  articles  of  equal  usefulness. 

While  the  dealers  here  displayed  their  ware,  and  were 
vociferous  in  declaring  its  excellence,  noisy  groups  passed 
up  and  down  on  either  side  of  these  ambulatory  shops,  dis* 

* A large  basket  of  coarse  wicker-work,  used  mostly  for  carrying 
Xxui—Anglice,  peat. 


216 


HAHDT  AKDY. 


cussing  the  merits  of  the  candidates,  predicting  the  result 
of  the  election,  or  giving  an  occasional  cheer  for  their  re- 
spective parties,  with  the  twirl  of  a stick  or  the  throwing 
up  of  a hat;  while  from  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
street  the  scraping  of  fiddles,  and  the  lilting  of  pipes,  in- 
creased the  mingled  din. 

But  the  crowd  was  thickest  and  the  uproar  greatest  in 
front  of  the  inn  where  Scatterbrain's  committee  sat,  and 
before  the  house  of  Murphy,  who  gave  up  all  his  establish- 
ment to  the  service  of  the  election,  and  whose  stable-yard 
made  a capital  place  of  mustering  for  the  tallies  of  Egan's 
electors  to  assemble  ere  they  marched  to  the  poll.  At  last 
the  hour  for  opening  the  poll  struck,  the  inn  poured  forth 
the  Scatterbrains,  and  Murphy's  stable-yard  the  Eganites, 
the  two  bodies  of  electors  uttering  thundering  shouts  of 
defiance,  as,  with  rival  banners  flying,  they  joined  in  one 
common  stream,  rushing  to  give  their  votes — for  as  for 
their  voices , they  were  giving  them  most  liberally  and 
strenuously  already.  The  dense  crowd  soon  surrounded 
the  hustings  in  front  of  the  court-house,  and  the  throes  and 
heavings  of  this  living  mass  resembled  a turbulent  sea 
lashed  by  a tempest: — but  what  sea  is  more  unruly  than  an 
excited  crowd? — what  tempest  fiercer  than  the  breath  of 
political  excitement? 

Conspicuous  amongst  those  on  the  hustings  were  both 
the  candidates,  and  their  aiders  and  abettors  on  either  side 
— O'Grady  and  Furlong,  Dick  Dawson  and  Tom  Durfy  for 
work,  and  Growling  to  laugh  at  them  all.  Edward  O'Con- 
nor was  addressing  the  populace  in  a spirit-stirring  appeal 
to  their  pride  and  affections,  stimulating  them  to  support 
their  tried  and  trusty  friend,  and  not  yield  the  honor  of 
their  county  either  to  fears  or  favors  of  a stranger,  nor 
copy  the  bad  example  which  some  (who  ought  to  blush) 
had  set  them,  of  betraying  old  friends  and  abandoning  old 
principles.  Edward's  address  was  cheered  by  those  who 
heard  it — but  being  heard  is  not  essential  to  the  applause 
attendant  on  political  addresses,  for  those  who  do  not  hear 
cheer  quite  as  much  as  those  who  do.  The  old  adage  hath 
it,  “ Show  me  your  company,  and  I'll  tell  you  who  you 
are;" — and  in  the  spirit  of  the  adage  one  might  say,  “ Let 
me  see  the  speech-maker,  an'  I'll  tell  you  what  he  says.'* 
So  when  Edward  O'Connor  spoke,  the  boys  welcomed  him* 
with  a shout  of  “ Ned  of  the  Hill  forever!" — and  knowing 


HAKDY  AKDY. 


21? 


to  what  tune  his  month  would  he  opened,  they  cheered  ac- 
cordingly when  he  concluded.  O'Grady,  on  evincing  a 
desire  to  addres  sthem,  was  not  so  successful; — the  moment 
he  showed  himself,  taunts  were  flung  at  him : but  spite  of 
this,  attempting  to  frown  down  their  dissatisfaction,  he 
began  to  speak;  but  he  had  not  uttered  six  words  when 
his  voice  was  drowned  in  the  discordant  yells  of  a trumpet. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  tell  the  reader  that  the  per- 
former was  the  identical  trumpeter  of  the  preceding  day, 
whom  O'Grady  had  kicked  so  unmercifully,  who,  in  indig- 
nation at  his  wrongs,  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy;  and 
having,  after  a night's  hard  work,  disengaged  the  cork 
which  Andy  had  crammed  into  his  trumpet,  appeared  in 
the  crowd  ready  to  do  battle  in  the  popular  cause.  “ W ait," 
he  cried,  “till  that  savage  of  a baste  of  a Squire  dares  for 
to  go  for  to  spake! — won't  I smother  him!"  Then  he 
would  put  his  instrument  of  vengeance  to  his  lips,  and 
produce  a yell  that  made  his  auditors  put  their  hands  to 
their  ears.  Thus  armed,  he  waited  near  the  platform  for 
O'Grady's  speech,  and  put  his  threat  effectually  into  exe- 
cution. O'Grady  saw  whence  the  annoyance  proceeded, 
and  shook  his  fist  at  the  delinquent,  with,  protestations  that 
the  police  should  drag  him  from  the  crowd,  if  he  dared 
to  continue;  but  every  threat  was  blighted  in  the  bud  by 
the  withering  blast  of  a trumpet,  which  was  regularly  fol- 
lowed by  a peal  of  laughter  from  the  crowd.  O'Grady 
stamped  and  swore  with  rage,  and  calling  Furlong,  sent 
him  to  inform  the  sheriff  how  riotous  the  crowd  were,  and 
requested  him  to  have  the  trumpeter  seized. 

Furlong  hurried  off  on  his  mission,  and  after  a long  search 
for  the  potential  functionary,  saw  him  in  a distant  corner, 
engaged  in  what  appeared  to  be  an  urgent  discussion  be- 
tween him  and  Murtough  Murphy,  who  was  talking  in  the 
most  jocular  manner  to  the  sheriff,  who  seemed  anything 
but  amused  with  his  argumentative  merriment.  The  fact 
was,  Murphy,  while  pushing  the  interests  of  Egan  with  an 
energy  unsurpassed,  did  it  all  with  the  utmost  cheerful- 
ness, and  gave  his  opponents  a laugh  in  exchange  for  the 
point  gained  against  them,  and  while  he  defeated,  amused 
them.  Furlong,  after  shoving  and  elbowing  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  suffering  from  heat  and  exertion,  came 
fussing  up  to  the  sheriff,  wiping  his  face  with  a scented 
cambric  pocket-handkerchief.  The  sheriff  and  Murphy 


m 


BAHDY  AKDY* 


were  standing  close  beside  one  of  the  polling-desks,  and  on 
Furlong’s  lisping  out,  “Miste’  ShewifiT’  Murphy  recog- 
nizing the  yoice  and  manner,  turned  suddenly  round,  and 
with  the  most  provoking  cordiality  addressed  him  thus, 
with  a smile  and  a nod:  “ Ah!  Mister  Furlong,  how  d’ye 
do? — delighted  to  see  you;  here  we  are  at  it,  sir,  hammer 
and  tongs — of  course  you  are  come  to  vote  for  Egan?” 

Furlong,  who  intended  to  annihilate  Murphy  with  an  in- 
dignant repetition  of  the  provoking  question  put  to  him, 
threw  as  much  of  defiance  as 'he  could  in  his  namby-pamby 
manner,  and  exclaimed,  “/vote  for  Egan!” 

“Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Murphy.  “Becord  the  vote,” 
added  he  to  the  clerk. 

There  was  loud  laughter  on  one  side,  and  anger  as  loud 
on  the  other,  at  the  way  in  which  Murphy  had  entrapped 
Furlong,  and  cheated  him  into  voting  against  his  own 
party.  In  vain  the  poor  gull  protested  he  never  meant  to 
vote  for  Egan. 

“But  you  did  it,”  cried  Murphy. 

“ What  the  deuce  have  you  done?”  cried  Scatterbrain’s 
agent,  in  a rage. 

“ Of  course,  they  know  I wouldn’t  vote  that  way,”  said 
Furlong.  “I  couldn’t  vote  that  way — it’s  a mistake,  and 
I pwotest  against  the  twick.” 

“ We’ve  got  the  trick,  and  we’ll  keep  it,  however,”  said 
Murphy. 

Scatterbrain’s  agent  said  ’twas  unfair,  and  desired  the 
polling-clerk  not  to  record  the  vote. 

“ Didn’t  every  one  hear  him  say,  (I  vote  for  Egan’?” 
asked  Murphy. 

“ But  he  didn’t  mean  it,  sir,”  said  the  agent. 

“I  don’t  care  what  he  meant,  but  I know  he  said  it,” 
retorted  Murphy;  “and  everyone  round  knows  he  said  it; 
and  as  I mean  what  I say  myself,  I suppose  every  other 
gentleman  does  the  same — down  with  the  vote.  Mister 
Polling-Clerk.” 

A regular  wrangle  now  took  place  between  the  two 
agents,  amidst  the  laughter  of  the  bystanders,  whose  mer- 
riment was  increased  by  Furlong’s  vehement  assurances  he 
did  not  mean  to  vote  as  Murphy  wanted  to  make  it  appear 
he  had;  but  the  more  he  protested,  the  more  the  people 
laughed.  This  increased  his  energy  in  fighting^  out  the 
point,  until  Scatterbrain’s  agent  recommended  him  to  de^ 


ilAHbt  AKdY. 


219 


gist,,  for  that  he  was  only  interrupting  their  own  voters  from 
coming  up.  “ Never  mind  now,  sir,"  said  the  agent,  “ 1*11 
appeal  to  the  assessor  about  that  vote. ** 

“ Appeal  as  much  as  you  like/*  said  Murtough;  “ that 
vote  is  as  dead  as  a herring  to  you.** 

Furlong,  finding  further  remonstrance  unavailing,  as 
regarded  his  vote,  delivered  to  the  sheriff  the  message  of 
0*Grady,  who  was  boiling  over  with  impatience,  in  the 
meantime,  at  the  delay  of  his  messenger,  and  anxiously  ex- 
pecting the  arrival  of  sheriff  and  police  to  coerce  the  vil- 
lainous trumpeter  and  chastise  the  applauding  crowd,  which 
became  worse  and  worse  every  minute. 

They  exhibited  a new  source  of  provocation  to  0*Grady, 
by  exposing  a rat-trap  hung  at  the  end  of  a pole,  with  the 
caged  vermin  within,  and  vociferated,  “'Bat,  rat,**  in  the 
pauses  of  the  trumpet.  Scatterbrain,  remembering  the 
hearing  they  gave  him  the  previous  day,  hoped  to  silence 
them,  and  begged  0*Grady  to  permit  him  to  address  them; 
but  the  whim  of  the  mob  was  up,  and  could  not  be  easily 
diverted,  and  Scatterbrain  himself  was  hailed  with  the 
name  of  “ Bat-catcher.** 

“ You  cotch  him,  and  I wish  you  joy  of  him!**  cried  one. 

“ How  much  did  you  give  for  him?**  shouted  another. 

“ What  did  you  bait  your  thrap  with?**  roared  a third. 

“ A bit  o*  threasury  bacon ,**  was  the  answer  from  a 
stentorian  voice  amidst  the  multitude,  who  shouted  with 
laughter  at  the  apt  rejoinder,  which  they  reiterated  from 
one  end  of  the  crowd  to  the  other,  and  the  cry  of  “ threas- 
ury bacon  **  rang  far  and  wide. 

Scatterbrain  and  0*Grady  consulted  together  on  the  hus- 
tings what  was  to  be  done,  while  Dick  the  Devil  was  throw- 
ing jokes  to  the  crowd,  and  inflaming  their  mischievous 
merriment,  and  Growling  looking  on  with  an  expression  of 
internal  delight  at  the  fun,  uproar,  and  vexation  around 
him.  It  was  just  a dish  to  his  taste,  and  he  devoured  it 
with  silent  satisfaction. 

“What  the  deuce  keeps  that  sneaking  dandy?**  cried 
0*Grady  to  Scatterbrain.  “ He  should  have  returned  long 
ago.**  Oh!  could  he  have  only  known  at  that  moment 
that  his  sweet  son-in-law  elect  was  voting  against  them,, 
what  would  have  been  the  consequence? 

Another  exhibition,  insulting  to  0*Grady,  now  appeared 
in  the  crowd— a chimneypot  and  weather-cock,  after  the 


11AKDT  AHB¥. 


fashion  of  his  mother’s,  was  stuck  on  a pole,  and  under- 
neath was  suspended  an  old  coat,  turned  inside  out;  this 
double  indication  of  his  change,  so  peculiarly  insulting, 
was  elevated  before  the  hustings,  amidst  the  jeers  and 
laughter  of  the  people.  O’Grady  was  nearly  frantic — he 
rushed  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the 
mockery,  poured  out  every  abusive  epithet  on  its  perpetra- 
tors, and  swore  he  would  head  the  police  himself  and  clear 
the  crowd.  In  reply,  the  crowd  hooted,  the  rat-trap  and 
weather-cock  were  danced  together  after  the  fashion  of 
Punch  and  Judy,  to  the  music  of  the  trumpet;  and  another 
pole  made  its  appearance,  with  a piece  of  bacon  on  it,  and 
a placard  bearing  the  inscription  of  “ Treasury  bacon,"  all 
which  Tom  Durfy  had  run  off  to  procure  at  a huckster’s 
shop  the  moment  he  heard  the  waggish  answer,  which  he 
thus  turned  to  account. 

“The  military  must  be  called  out!"  said  O’Grady;  and 
with  these  words  he  left  the  platform  to  seek  the  sheriff. 

Edward  O’Connor,  the  moment  he  heard  O’Grady’s 
threat,  quitted  the  hustings  also,  in  company  with  old 
Growling.  “What  a savage  and  dangerous  temper  that 
man  has!"  said  Edward;  “calling  for  the  military  when 
the  people  have  committed  no  outrage  to  require  such  in- 
terference." 

“ They  have  poked  up  the  bear  with  their  poles,  sir,  and 
it  is  likely  he’ll  give  them  a hug  before  he’s  done  with 
them,"  answered  the  doctor. 

“But  what  need  of  military?"  indignantly  exclaimed 
Edward.  “ The  people  are  only  going  on  with  the  noise 
and  disturbance  common  to  any  election,  and  the  chances 
are,  that  savage  man  may  influence  the  sheriff  to  provoke 
the  people,  by  the  presence  of  soldiers,  to  some  act  which 
would  not  have  taken  place  but  for  their  interference;  and 
thus  they  themselves  originate  the  offense  which  they  are 
forearmed  with  power  to  chastise.  In  England  such  ex- 
treme measures  are  never  resorted  to  until  necessity  compels 
them.  How  I have  envied  Englishmen,  when,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  assizes,  every  soldier  is  marched  from  the  town 
while  the  judge  is  sitting;  in  Ireland  the  place  of  trial 
bristles  with  bayonets!  How  much  more  must  a people 
respect  and  love  the  laws,  whose  own  purity  and  justice 
are  their  best  safeguard — whose  inherent  majesty  is  suffi- 
cient for  their  own  protection  I The  sword  of  j ustice  should 


HANDY  ANDY. 


221 


never  need  the  assistance  of  the  swords  of  dragoons;  and 
in  the  election  of  their  representatives,  as  well  as  at  judicial 
sittings,  a people  should  be  free  from  military  despotism/3 

“ But,  as  an  historian,  my  dear  young  friend,”  said  the 
doctor,  “ I need  not  remind  you,  that  dragoons  have  been 
considered  ‘ good  lookers-on ' in  Ireland  since  the  days  of 
Strafford.” 

“Ay!”  said  Edward;  “and  scandalous  it  is,  that  the 
abuses  of  the  seventeenth  century  should  be  perpetuated  in 
the  nineteenth.*  While  those  who  govern  show,  by  the 
means  they  adopt  for  supporting  their  authority,  that  their 
rule  requires  undue  force  to  uphold  it,  they  tacitly  teach 
resistance  to  the  people,  and  their  practices  imply  that  the 
resistance  is  righteous.” 

“My  dear  Master  Ned,”  said  the  doctor,  “you're  a pa- 
triot, and  Fm  sorry  for  you;  you  inherit  the  free  opinions 
of  your  namesake  ‘of  the  hill/ of  blessed  memory;  with 
such  sentiments  you  may  make  a very  good  Irish  barrister, 
but  you'll  never  be  an  Irish  judge — and  as  for  a silk  gown, 
faith  you  may  leave  the  wearing  of  that  to  your  wife,  for 
stuff  is  all  that  will  ever  adorn  your  shoulders.” 

“Well,  I would  rather  have  stuff  there  than  in  my  head,” 
answered  Edward. 

“Very  epigrammatic,  indeed.  Master  Ned,”  said  the 
doctor.  “ Let  us  make  a distich  of  it,”  added  he,  with  a 
chuckle;  “for,  of  a verity,  some  of  the  K.C.'s  of  our  times 
are  but  dunces.  Let’s  see — how  will  it  go?” 

Edward  dashed  off  this  couplet  in  a moment — 

“ Of  modern  king's  counsel  this  truth  may  be  said, 

They  have  silk  on  their  shoulders,  and  stuff  in  their  heads." 

“Neat  enough,”  said  the  doctor;  “ but  you  might  con- 
trive more  sting  in  it: — something  to  the  tune  of  the  im- 
possibility of  making  ‘ a silk  purse  out  of  a sow's  ear/  but 
the  facility  of  manufacturing  silk  gowns  out  of  bores9 
heads.” 

“ That's  out  of  your  bitter  pill-box,  Doctor/'  said  Ned, 
smiling. 

* When  Strafford's  infamous  project  of  the  -wholesale  robbery  of 
Connaught  was  put  in  practice,  not  being  quite  certain  of  his  juries, 
he  writes  that  he  will  send  three  hundred  horse  to  the  province 
during  the  proceedings,  as  “good  lookers-on." 


222 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“Put  it  into  rhyme,  Ned — and  set  it  to  music — and 
dedicate  it  to  the  bar  mess,  and  see  how  you'll  rise  in  your 
profession!  Good-bye — I will  be  back  again  to  see  the  fun 
as  soon  as  I can,  but  I must  go  now  and  visit  an  old  woman 
who  is  in  doubt  whether  she  stands  most  in  need  of  me  or 
the  priest.  It's  wonderful,  how  little  people  think  of  the 
other  world  till  they  are  going  to  leave  this;  and,  with  all 
their  praises  of  heaven,  how  very  anxious  they  are  to  stay 
out  of  it  as  long  as  they  can.” 

With  this  bit  of  characteristic  sarcasm,  the  doctor  and 
Edward  separated. 

Edward  had  hardly  left  the  hustings,  when  Murphy  hur- 
ried on  the  platform  and  asked  for  him. 

“ He  left  a few  minutes  ago,”  said  Tom  Durfy. 

“Well,  I dare  say  he's  doing  good  wherever  he  is,”  said 
Murtough.  “I  wanted  to  speak  to  him,  but  when  he 
comes  back  send  him  to  me.  In  the  meantime,  Tom,  run 
down  and  bring  up  a batch  of  voters — we're  getting  a little 
ahead,  I think,  with  the  bothering  I'm  giving  them  up 
there,  and  now  I want  to  bush  them  with  good  strong  tal- 
lies— run  down  to  the  yard,  like  a good  fellow,  and  march 
them  up.” 

Off  posted  Tom  Durfy  on  his  mission,  and  Murphy  re- 
turned to  the  court-house. 

Tom,  on  reaching  Murphy's  house,  found  a strange 
posse  of  O'Grady's  party  hanging  round  the  place,  and  one 
of  the  fellows  had  backed  a car  against  the  yard  gate,  which 
opened  on  the  street,  and  was  the  outlet  for  Egan's  voters. 
By  way  of  excuse  for  this,  the  car  was  piled  with  cabbages 
for  sale,  and  a couple  of  very  unruly  pigs  were  tethered  to 
the  shafts,  and  the  strapping  feiiow  who  owned  all  kept 
guard  over  them.  Tom  immediately  told  him  he  should 
leave  that  place,  and  an  altercation  commenced;  but  even 
an  electioneering  dispute  could  not  but  savor  of  fun  and, 
repartee,  between  Paddies. 

“ Be  off!”  said  Tom. 

“ Sure  I can't  be  off  till  the  market's  over,”  was  the 
answer. 

“ Well,  you  must  take  your  car  out  o'  this.” 

“ Indeed  now,  you'll  let  me  stay,  Misther  Durfy.” 

“ Indeed  I won't.” 

^ €e  Arrah!  what  harm?” 


HANDY  ANDY. 


223 


“ You're  stopping  up  the  gate  on  purpose,  and  you  must 

go." 

“ Sure  your  honor  wouldn't  spile  my  stand !" 

“ Faith,  111  spoil  more  than  your  stand,  if  you  don't 
leave  that." 

“ Not  finer  cabbage  in  the  world." 

“ Go  out  o'  that  now,  f while  your  shoes  are  good,'  "* 
said  Tom,  seeing  he  had  none;  for,  in  speaking  of  shoes, 
Tom  had  no  intention  of  alluding  to  the  word  cJioux , and, 
thus  making  a French  pun  upon  the  callage — for  Tom  did, 
not  understand  French,  but  rather  despised  it  as  a Jack-a- 
dandy  acquirement. 

“Sure  you  wouldn't  ruin  my  market,  Misther  Durfy." 

“ None  of  your  humbugging — but  be  off  at  once,"  said 
Tom,  whose  tone  indicated  he  was  very  much  in  earnest 

“ Not  a nicer  slip  of  a pig  in  the  market  than  the  same 
pigs — I'm  expectin'  thirty  shillin's  apiece  for  them." 

“Faith,  you'll  get  more  than  thirty  shillings,"  cried 
Tom,  “ in  less  than  thirty  seconds,  if  you  don't  take  your 
dirty  cabbage  and  blackguard  pigs  out  o'  that. " 

“Dirty  cabbages!"  cried  the  fellow,  in  a tone  of  sur- 
prise. 

The  order  to  depart  was  renewed. 

“ Blackguard  pigs!"  cried  Paddy,  in  affected  wonder. 
“ Ah,  Masther  Tom,  one  would  think  it  was  afther  dinner 
you  wor." 

“ What  do  you  mean,  you  rap? — do  you  intend  to  say  I'm 
drunk?" 

“Oh,  no,  sir!  But  if  it's  not  afther  dinner  wid  you, 
I think  you  wouldn't  turn  up  your  nose  at  bacon  and 
greens." 

“Oh,  with  all  your  joking,"  said  Tom,  laughing,  “you 
won't  find  me  a chicken  to  pluck  for  your  bacon  and  greens, 
my  boy;  so,  start! — vanish! — disperse! — my  bacon-mer- 
chant." 

While  this  dialogue  was  going  forward,  several  cars  were 
gathered  round  the  place,  with  a seeming  view  to  hem  in 
Egan's  voters,  and  interrupt  their  progress  to  the  poll;  but 
the  gate  of  the  yard  suddenly  opened,  and  the  fellows  with- 
in soon  upset  the  car  which  impeded  their  egress,  gave 

* A saying  among  the  Irish  peasantry— meaning  there  is  danger 
in  delay/ 


224 


HANDY  ANDY. 


freedom  to  the  pigs,  who  used  their  liberty  in  eating  the 
cabbages,  while  their  owner  was  making  cause  with  his 
party  of  O'Gradyites  against  the  outbreak  of  Egan's  men. 
The  affair  was  not  one  of  importance;  the  numbers  were 
not  sufficient  to  constitute  a good  row — it  was  but  a hus- 
tling affair,  after  all,  and  a slight  scrimmage  enabled  Tom 
Durfy  to  head  his  men  in  a rush  to  the  poll. 

The  polling  was  now  prosecuted  vigorously  on  both  sides, 
each  party  anxious  to  establish  a majority  on  the  first  day;  i 
and  of  course  the  usual  practices  for  facilitating  their 
own,  and  retarding  their  opponent's  progress  were  resorted 
to. 

Scatterbrain's  party,  to  counteract  the  energetic  move- 
ment of  the  enemy's  voters  and  Murphy's  activity,  got  up 
a mode  of  interruption  seldom  made  use  of,  but  of  which 
they  availed  themselves  on  the  present  occasion.  It  was 
determined  to  put  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  all  the  Eoman 
Catholics,  by  which  some  loss  of  time  to  the  Eganite  party 
was  effected. 

This  gave  rise  to  odd  scenes  and  answers,  occasionally:— 
some  of  the  fellows  did  not  know  what  the  oath  of 
allegiance  meant;  some  did  not  know  whether  there 
might  not  be  a scruple  of  conscience  against  making 
it;  others,  indignant  of  what  they  felt  to  be  an  insulting 
mode  of  address,  on  the  part  of  the  person  who  said  to  them, 
in  a tone  savoring  of  supremacy — “ You’re  a Eoman 
Catholic?" — would  not  answer  immediately,  and  gave 
dogged  looks,  and  sometimes  dogged  answers;  and  it  re- 
quired address  on  the  part  of  Egan's  agents  to  make  them 
overcome  such  feelings,  and  expedite  the  work  of  voting. 
At  last  the  same  herculean  fellow  who  gave  O'Grady  the 
fierce  answer  about  the  blunderbuss  tenure  he  enjoyed, 
came  up  to  vote,  and  fairly  bothered  the  querist  with  his 
ready  replies  which,  purposely,  were  never  to  the  purpose. 
The  examination  ran  nearly  thus: 

“ You're  a Eoman  Catholic?" 

“ Am  I?"  said  the  fellow. 

“ Are  you  not?"  demanded  the  agent. 

“ You  say  I am,"  was  the  answer. 

“ Come,  sir,  answer.  What  is  your  religion?” 

“ The  thrue  religion." 

“ What  religion  is  that?” 
u My  religion." 


HANDY  ANDY. 


225 


“And  what's  your  religion?" 

“ My  mother's  religion. " 

“ And  what  was  your  mother's  religion?* 

“ She  tuk  whisky  in  her  tay ." 

“ Come,  now.  I'll  find  you  out,  as  cunning  as  you  are,* 
said  the  agent,  piqued  into  an  encounter  of  wits  with 
this  fellow,  whose  baffling  of  every  question  pleased  the 
crowd. 

“ You  bless  yourself,  don't  you?" 

“ When  I'm  done  with,  I think  I ought." 

“ What  place  of  worship  do  you  go  to?" 

“ The  most  convaynient." 

“ But  of  what  persuasion  are  you?" 

“ My  persuasion  is  that  you  won't  find  it  out.* 

“ What  is  your  belief  ?" 

“ My  belief  is  that  you’re  puzzled." 

“ Do  you  confess?" 

“ Not  to  you." 

“Come!  now  I have  you.  Who  would  you  send  for  if 
you  were  likely  to  die?" 

“Doctor  Growlin'." 

“ Not  for  the  priest?" 

“ I must  first  get  a messenger." 

“Confound  your  quibbling!  tell  me,  then,  what  your 
opinions  are — your  conscientious  opinions  I mean." 

“ They  are  the  same  as  my  landlord's." 

“And  what  are  your  landlord's  opinions?" 

“ Faix,  his  opinion  is,  that  I won't  pay  him  the  last 
half-year's  rent;  and  I'm  of  the  same  opinion  myself." 

A roar  of  laughter  followed  this  answer,  and  dum- 
foundered  the  agent  for  a time;  but,  angered  at  the  suc- 
cessful quibbling  of  the  sturdy  and  wily  fellow  before  him, 
he  at  last  declared,  with  much  severity  of  manner,  that 
he  must  have  a direct  reply.  “I  insist,  sir,  on  your 
answering  at  once,  are  you  a Roman  Catholic?" 

“ I am,"  said  the  fellow. 

“And  could  not  you  say  so  at  once?"  repeated  the 
officer. 

“You  never  axed  me,"  returned  the  other. 

“ I did,"  said  the  officer. 

“ Indeed  you  didn't.  You  said  I was  a great  many 
things,  but  you  never  axed  me — you  wor  dhrivin'  crass 
words  and  cruked  questions  at  me,  and  I gev  you  answers 


HANDY  ANDY* 


m 

to  match  them,  for  sure  I thought  it  was  maimers  to  cut 

out  my  behavor  on  your  patthern.” 

“ Take  the  oath,  sir.” 

“ Where  am  I to  take  it  to,  sir?”  inquired  the  provoking 
blackguard. 

The  clerk  was  desired  to  “ swear  him,”  without  further 
notice  being  taken  of  his  impertinent  answer. 

“ I hope  the  oath  is  not  w eighty,  sir,  for  my  conscience 
is  tindher  since  the  last  alibi  I swore.” 

The  business  of  the  interior  was  now  suspended  for  a 
time  by  the  sounds  of  fierce  tumult  which  arose  from  with- 
out. Some  rushed  from  the  court-house  to  the  platform 
outside,  and  beheld  the  crowd  in  a state  of  great  excite- 
ment, beating  back  the  police,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
endeavoring  to  seize  the  persons  and  things  which  had  of- 
fended O'Grady,  and  the  police  failing  back  for  support  on 
a party  of  military  which  O'Grady  had  prevailed  on  the 
sheriff  to  call  out.  The  sheriff  was  a weak,  irresolute  man, 
and  was  overpersuaded  by  such  words  as  “mob”  and 
“ riot,”  and  breaches  of  the  peace  being  about  to  be  com- 
mitted, if  the  ruffians  were  not  checked  beforehand.  The 
wisdom  of  'preventive  measures  was  preached,  and  the  rest 
of  the  hackneyed  phrases  were  paraded,  which  brazen-faced 
and  iron-handed  oppressors  are  only  too  familiar  with. 

The  people  were  now  roused,  and  thoroughly  defeated 
the  police,  who  wrere  forced  to  fly  to  the  lines  of  the  mili- 
tary party  for  protection;  having  affected  this  object,  the 
crowed  retained  their  position,  and  did  not  attempt  to  as- 
sault the  soldiers,  though  a very  firm  and  louring  front  was 
presented  to  them,  and  shouts  of  defiance  against  the 
“ Peelers  ”*  rose  loud  and  long. 

“ A round  of  ball-cartridge  would  cool  their  courage,” 
said  O'Grady. 

The  English  officer  in  command  of  the  party,  looking 
with  wonder  and  reproach  upon  him,  asked  if  he  had  the 
command  of  the  party. 

“ No,  sir — the  sheriff,  of  course — but  if  I were  in  his 
place.  I'd  soon  disperse  the  rascals.” 

* The  name  given  to  the  police  by  the  people — the  force  being 
first  established  by  Sir  Kobert  Peel,  then  Air.  Peel,  Secretary  for 

belaud* 


HAETDY  AKDY,  227 

“Did  you  ever  witness  the  effect  of  a fusillade,  sir?"  in- 
quired the  officer. 

“ No,  sir,"  said  O'Grady,  gruffly;  “ but  I suppose  I know 
pretty  well  what  it  is." 

“ For  the  sake  of  humanity,  sir,  I hope  you  do  not,  or  I 
am  willing  to  believe  you  would  not  talk  so  lightly  of  it; 
but  it  is  singular  how*  much  fonder  civilians  are  of  urging 
measures  that  end  in  blood,  than  those  whose  profession  is 
arms,  and  who  know  how  disastrous  is  their  use." 

The  police  were  ordered  to  advance  again  and  seize  the 
“ ringleaders:"  they  obeyed  unwillingly;  but  being  saluted 
with  some  stones,  their  individual  wrath  was  excited,  and 
they  advanced  to  chastise  the  mob,  who  again  drove  them 
back;  and  a nearer  approach  to  the  soldiers  was  made  by 
the  crowd  in  the  scuffle  which  ensued. 

“ Now,  will  you  fire?"  said  O'Grady  to  the  sheriff. 

The  sheriff,  who  was  a miserable  eowTard,  was  filled  with 
dread  at  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  mob,  and  wished  to 
have  his  precious  person  under  shelter  before  hostilities 
commenced;  so,  with  pallid  lips,  and  his  teeth  chattering 
with  fear,  he  exclaimed : 

“No!  no!  no! — don't  fire — don't  fire — don't  be  precipi- 
tate: besides  I haven't  read  the  Riot  Act." 

“ There's  no  necessity  for  firing,  I should  say,"  said  the 
captain. 

“I  thought  not,  captain — I hope  not  captain,"  said  the 
sheriff,  who  now  assumed  a humane  tone.  “ Think  of  the 
effusion  of  blood,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he  to  O'Grady,  who 
was  grinning  like  a fiend  all  the  time — “the  sacrifice  of 
human  life — I couldn't,  sir — I can't,  sir — besides,  the  Riot 
Act — haven't  it  about  me — must  be  read,  you  know.  Mister 
O'Grady." 

“ Not  always,"  said  O'Grady,  fiercely. 

“But  the  inquiry  is  always  very  strict  after,  if  it  is  not, 
sir — I should  not  like  the  effusion  of  human  blood,  sir, 
unless  the  Riot  Act  was  read,  and  the  thing  done  regularly 

— don't  think  I care  for  the  d d rascals  a button,  sir — 

only  the  regularity,  you  know;  and  the  effusion  of  human 
blood  is  serious,  and  the  inquiry,  too,  without  the  Riot 
Act.  Captain,  would  you  oblige  me  to  fall  back  a little 
closer  round  the  court-house,  and  maintain  the  freedom  of 
election?  Besides,  the  Riot  Act  is  upstairs  in  my  desk. 
The  court-house  must  be  protected,  you  know,  and  I just 


228 


HANDY  ANDY. 


want  to  run  upstairs  for  the  Eiot  Act;  Pll  be  down  again 
in  a moment.  Captain*  do  oblige  me — draw  your  men  a 
leetle  closer  round  the  court-house.” 

“ I'm  in  a better  position  here*  sir*”  said  the  captain. 

“ I thought  you  were  under  my  command*  sir*”  said  the 
sheriff. 

“ Under  your  command  to  fire*  sir*  but  the  choice  of 
position  rests  with  me;  and  we  are  stronger  where  we  are; 
the  court-house  is  completely  covered*  and  while  my  men 
are  under  arms  here*  you  may  rely  on  it  the  crowd  is  com- 
pletely in  check  without  firing  a shot.” 

Off  ran  the  sheriff  to  the  court-house. 

“ You're  saving  of  your  gunpowder*  I see*  sir*”  said 
O'Grady  to  the  captain*  with  a sardonic  grin. 

“ You  seem  to  be  equally  sparing  of  your  humanity*  sir*” 
returned  the  captain. 

“God  forbid  I should  be  afraid  of  a pack  of  ruffians*” 
said  O'Grady. 

“ Or  I of  a single  one*”  returned  the  captain*  with  a look 
Of  stern  contempt. 

There  is  no  knowing  what  this  bitter  bandying  of  hard 
Words  might  have  led  to*  had  it  not  been  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  the  sheriff  at  one  of  the  windows  of  the 
court-house;  there*  with  the  Eiot  Act  in  his  hand*  he  called 
out: 

“ Now  Fve  read  it — Sre  away*  boys — fire  away!”  and  all 
his  compunction  about  the  effusion  of  blood  vanished  the 
moment  his  own  miserable  carcass  was  safe  from  harm. 
Again  he  waved  the  Eiot  Act  from  the  window*  and  vocif- 
erated* “Fire  away*  boys!”  as  loud  as  his  frog-like  voice 
permitted. 

“ Now*  sir*  you're  ordered  to  fire*”  said  O'Grady  to  the 
captain. 

“IH  not  obey  that  order*  sir*”  said  the  captain;  “the 
man  is  out  of  his  senses  with  fear*  and  I'll  not  obey  such  a 
serious  command  from  a madman.” 

“ Do  you  dare  disobey  the  orders  of  the  sheriff*  sir?” 
thundered  O'Grady. 

“ I am  responsible  for  my  act*  sir*”  said  the  captain* 
“ seriously  responsible;  but  I will  not  slaughter  unarmed 
people  until  I see  further  and  fitter  cause.” 

The  sheriff  had  vanished — he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen— 
and  O'Grady  as  a magistrate  had  now  the  command.  See- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


229 


the  cool  and  courageous  man  he  had  to  deal  with  in 
the  military  chief,  he  determined  to  push  matters  to  such 
an  extremity  that  he  should  be.  forced,  in  self-defense,  to 
fire.  With  this  object  in  view  he  ordered  a fresh  advance 
of  the  police  upon  the  people,  and  in  this  third  affair  mat- 
ters assumed  a more  serious  aspect;  sticks  and  stones  were 
used  with  more  effect,  and  the  two  parties  being  nearer  to 
each  other,  the  missiles  meant  only  for  the  police  overshot 
the  mark  and  struck  the  soldiers,  who  bore  the  painfui 
situation  with  admirable  patience. 

“ Now  will  you  fire,  sir?”  said  O'Grady  to  the  officer. 

“If  I fire  now,  sir,  I am  as  likely  to  kill  the  police  as 
the  people;  withdraw  your  police  first,  sir,  and  then  I will 
fire.” 

This  was  but  reasonable — so  reasonable,  that  even 
O'Grady,  enraged  almost  to  madness  as  he  was,  could  not 
gainsay  it;  and  he  went  forward  himself  to  withdraw  the 
police  force.  O'Grady's  presence  increased  the  rage  of  the 
mob,  whose  blood  was  now  thoroughly  up,  and  as  the 
police  fell  back  they  were  pressed  by  the  infurated  people, 
who  now  began  almost  to  disregard  the  presence  of  the 
military,  and  poured  down  in  a resistless  stream  upon  them. 

O'Grady  repeated  his  command  to  the  captain,  who, 
finding  matters  thus  driven  to  extremity,  saw  no  longer  the 
possibility  of  avoiding  bloodshed;  and  the  first  prepatory 
word  of  the  fatal  order  was  given,  the  second  on  his  lips, 
and  the  long  file  of  bright  muskets  flashed  in  the  sun  ere 
they  should  quench  his  light  forever  to  some,  and  carry 
darkness  to  many  a heart  and  hearth,  when  a young  and 
handsome  man,  mounted  on  a noble  horse,  came  plunging 
and  plowing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and,  rushing  be- 
tween the  half-leveled  muskets  and  those  who  in  another 
instant  would  have  fallen  their  victims,  he  shouted  in  a 
voice  whose  noble  tone  carried  to  its  hearers  involuntary 
obedience,  “ Stop! — for  God's  sake,  stop!”  Then  wheeling 
his  horse  suddenly  round,  he  charged  along  the  advancing 
front  of  the  people,  plunging  his  horse  fiercely  upon  them, 
and  waving  them  back  with  his  hand,  enforcing  his  com- 
mands with  words  as  well  as  actions.  The  crowd  fell  back 
as  he  pressed  upon  them  with  fiery  horsemanship  unsur- 
passable by  an  Arab;  and  as  his  dark  clustering  hair 
streamed  about  his  noble-  face,  pale  from  excitement,  and 
with  flashing  eyes,  he  was  a model  worthy  of  the  best  days 


HAHDY  AHDYi 


330 

of  Grecian  art — ay,  and  he  had  a soul  worthy  of  the  most 
glorious  times  of  Grecian  liberty! 

It  was  Edward  O'Connor. 

“Fire!”  cried  O'Grady  again. 

The  gallant  soldier,  touched  by  the  heroism  of  O'Connor, 
and  roused  by  the  brutality  of  O'Grady  beyond  his  patience, 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  was  urged  beyond  the 
habitual  parlance  of  a gentleman,  and  swore  vehemently, 
“ I'll  be  damned  if  I do!  I wouldn't  run  the  risk  of  shoot- 
ing that  noble  fellow  for  all  the  magistrates  in  your 
county.” 

O'Connor  had  again  turned  round,  and  rode  up  to  the 
military  party,  having  heard  the  word  “ fire!”  repeated. 

“ For  mercy's  sake,  sir,  don't  fire,  and  I pledge  you  my 
soul  the  crowd  shall  disperse.” 

“Ay!”  cried  O'Grady,  “they  won't  obey  the  laws  nor  the 

magistrates;  but  they'll  listen  fast  enough  to  a d d rebel 

like  you.” 

“Liar  and  ruffian!”  exclaimed  Edward.  “I'm  a better 
and  more  loyal  subject  than  you,  who  provoke  resistance  to 
the  laws  you  should  have  honored.” 

At  the  word  “liar,”  O'Grady,  now  quite  frenzied,  at- 
tempted to  seize  a musket  from  a soldier  beside  him;  and 
had  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  possession  of  it,  Edward 
yG  nnor's  days  had  been  numbered;  but  the  soldier  would 
not  give  up  his  firelock,  and  O'Grady,  intent  on  immediate 
vengeance,  then  rushed  upon  Edward,  and  seizing  him  by 
the  leg,  attempted  to  unhorse  him;  but  Edward  was  too 
firm  in  his  seat  for  this,  and  a struggle  ensued. 

The  crowd,  fearing  Edward  w^as  about  to  fall  a victim, 
raised  a fierce  shout,  and  were  about  to  advance,  when  the 
captain,  with  admirable  presence  of  mind,  seized  O'Grady, 
dragged  him  away  from  his  hold,  and  gave  freedom  to 
Edward,  who  instantly  used  it  again  to  charge  the  advanc- 
ing line  of  the  mob,  and  drive  them  back. 

“Back,  boys,  back!”  he  cried,  “don't  give  your  enemies 
a triumph  by  being  disorderly.  Disperse — retire  into 

your  houses,  let  nothing  tempt  you  to  riot— collect  round 
your  tally-rooms,  and  come  up  quietly  to  the  polling — and 
you  will  yet  have  a peaceful  triumph.” 

The  crowd,  obeying,  gave  three  cheers  for  Ned-o'-the- 
Hill/'  and  the  dense  mass#  which  could  not  be  awed#  and 


fiAHD  Y ANDY.  23 1 

dreaded  not  the  engines  of  war,  melted  away  before  the 
breath  of  peace. 

As  they  retired  on  one  side,  the  soldiers  were  ordered  to 
their  quarters  on  the  other,  while  their  captain  and  Edward 
OConnor  stood  in  the  midst;  but  ere  they  separated,  these 
two,  with  charity  in  their  souls,  waved  their  hands  toward 
eaah  other  in  token  of  amity,  and  parted,  verily,  in  friend- 
ship. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

After  the  incidents  just  recorded,  of  course  great  con- 
fusion and  excitement  existed,  during  which  OCrady  was 
forced  back  into  the  court-house  in  a state  bordering  on 
insanity.  Inflamed  as  his  furious  passions  had  been  to  the 
top  of  their  bent,  and  his  thirst  of  revenge  still  remaining 
unslacked,  foiled  in  all  his  movements,  and  flung  back  as 
it  were  into  the  seething  cauldron  of  his  own  hellish  tem- 
per, he  was  a pitiable  sight,  foaming  at  the  mouth  like  a 
wild  animal,  and  uttering  the  most  horrid  imprecations. 
On  Edward  O'Connor  principally  his  curses  fell,  with  de- 
nunciations of  immediate  vengeance,  and  the  punishment 
of  dismissal  from  the  service  was  prophesied  on  oath  for 
the  English  captain.  The  terrors  of  a court-martial 
gleamed  fitfully  through  the  frenzied  mind  of  the  rav- 
ing Squire  for  the  soldier;  and  for  OConnor,  instant  death 
at  his  own  hands  was  his  momentary  cry. 

“Find  the  rascal  for  me,"  he  exclaimed,  “ that  I may 

call  him  out  and  shoot  him  like  a dog — yes,  by , a dog 

— a dog;  Fm  disgraced  while  he  lives — I wish  the  villain 
had  three  lives  that  I might  take  them  all  at  once — all — 
all  1”  and  he  stretched  out  his  hands  as  he  spoke,  and 
grasped  at  the  air  as  if  in  imagination  he  clutched  the  vis- 
ionary lives  his  blood-thirsty  wishes  conjured  up. 

Edward,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  crowd  dispersed,  return- 
ed to  the  hustings  and  sought  Dick  Dawson,  that  ho 
might  be  in  readiness  to  undertake,  on  his  part,  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  hostile  meeting,  to  which  he  knew  he  should 
be  immediately  called.  “ Let  it  be  over,  my  dear  Dick,  ae 
soon  as  possible,”  said  Edward;  “ iFs  not  a case  in  which 
delay  can  be  of  any  service;  the  insult  was  mortal  between 
us,  and  the  sooner  expiated  by  a meeting  the  better.” 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Don't  be  so  agitated,  Ned/'  said  Dick;  “ fair  and  easy, 
man — fair  and  easy — keep  yourself  cool." 

“ Dear  Dick — I'll  be  cool  on  the  ground,  but  not  till 
then — I want  the  meeting  over  before  my  father  hears  of 
the  quarrel;  I'm  his  only  child,  Dick,  and  you  know  how 
he  loves  me!" 

He  wrung  Dick's  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  his  eye  glistened 
with  tenderness;  but  with  the  lightning  quickness  of 
thought  all  gentle  feeling  vanished  as  he  saw  Scatterbrain 
struggling  his  way  toward  him,  and  read  in  his  eye  the 
purport  of  his  approach.  He  communicated  to  Edward 
his  object  in  seeking  him,  and  was  at  once  referred  to 
Dawson,  who  instantly  retired  with  him  and  arranged  an 
immediate  meeting.  This  was  easily  done,  as  they  had 
their  pistols  with  them  since  the  duel  in  the  morning;  and 
if  there  be  those  who  think  it  a little  too  much  of  a good 
thing  to  have  two  duels  in  one  day,  pray  let  them  remem- 
ber it  was  election  time,  and  even  in  sober  England  that 
period  often  gives  rise  to  personalities  which  call  for  the 
intervention  of  the  code  of  honor.  Only  in  Ireland  the 
thing  is  sooner  over.  We  seldom  have  three  columns  of  a 
newspaper  filled  with  notes  on  the  subject,  numbered  from 
1 to  25.*  Gentlemen  don't  consider  whether  it  is  too  soon 
or  too  late  to  fight,  or  whether  a gentleman  is  perfectly  en- 
titled to  call  him  out  or  not.  The  title  in  Ireland  is  gen- 
erally considered  sufficient  in  the  will  to  do  it,  and  few 
there  would  wait  for  the  poising  of  a very  delicately  bal- 
anced scale  of  etiquette  before  going  to  the  ground;  they 
would  be  more  likely  to  fight  first,  and  leave  the  world  to 
argue  about  the  niceties  after. 

In  the  present  instance  a duel  was  unavoidable,  and  it 
was  to  be  feared  a mortal  one,  for  deadly  insult  had  been 
given  on  both  sides. 

The  rumor  of  the  hostile  meeting  flew  like  wildfire 
through  the  town,  and  when  the  parties  met  in  a field 
about  a quarter  of  a mile  beyond  the  bridge,  an  anxious 
crowd  was  present.  The  police  were  obliged  to  be  in 
strong  force  on  the  ground  to  keep  back  the  people,  who 
were  not  now,  as  an  hour  before,  in  the  town,  in  uproari- 

* Just  such  a lengthy  correspondence  had  appeared  in  the  Lon- 
don journals  when  the  first  edition  of  this  book  was  published. 


HAHJDY  AXDY. 


233 

bus  noisQ  and  action,  but  still  as  death;  not  a murmur 
was  amongst  them;  the  excitement  of  love  for  the  noble 
young  champion,  whose  life  was  in  danger  for  his  care  of 
them,  held  them  spell-bound  in  a tranquillity  almost  fear- 
ful. 

The  aspect  of  the  two  principals  was  in  singular  con- 
trast. On  the  one  side  a man  burning  for  revenge,  who, 
to  use  a common  but  terrible  parlance,  desired  to  “ wash 
out  the  dishonor  put  upon  him  in  blood. ” The  other  was 
there,  regretting  that  cause  existed  for  the  awful  arbitra- 
ment, and  only  anxious  to  defend  his  own,  not  take  an- 
other’s life.  To  sensitive  minds  the  reaction  is  always 
painful  of  having  insulted  another,  when  the  excitement 
is  over  which  prompted  it.  When  the  hot  blood  which  in- 
flamed the  brain  runs  in  cooler  currents,  the  man  of  feel- 
ing always  regrets,  if  he  does  not  reproach  himself  with, 
having  urged  his  fellow-man  to  break  the  commandments 
of  the  Most  High,  and  deface,  perhaps  annihilate,  the  form 
that  was  moulded  in  His  image.  The  words  “liar  and 
ruffian”  haunted  Edward’s  reproachfully;  but  then  the 
provocation — “rebel!” — no  gentleman  could  brook  it. 
Because  his  commiseration  for  a people  had  endeared  him 
to  them,  was  he  to  be  called  “ rebel  ” ? Because,  at  the  risk 
of  his  own  life,  he  had  preserved  perhaps  scores,  and  pre- 
vented an  infraction  of  the  law,  was  he  to  be  called  “ rebel  ” ? 
He  stood  acquitted  before  his  own  conscience: — after  all, 
the  most  terrible  bar  before  which  he  can  be  called  in  this 
world. 

The  men  were  placed  upon  their  ground,  and  the  wTord 
to  fire  given.  O’Grady,  in  his  desire  for  vengeance,  de- 
liberately raised  his  pistol  with  deadly  aim,  and  Edward 
was  thus  enabled  to  fire  first,  yet  with  such  cool  precision, 
that  his  shot  took  effect  as  he  intended;  O’Grady’s  arm  was 
ripped  up  from  the  wrist  to  the  elbow;  but  so  determined 
was  his  will,  and  so  firm  his  aim,  that  the  wound,  severe 
as  it  was,  produced  but  a slight  twitch  in  his  hand,  which 
threw  it  up  slightly,  and  saved  Edward’s  life,  for  the  ball 
passed  through  his  hat  just  above  his  head. 

O’Grady’s  arm  instantly  after  dropped  to  his  side,  the 
pistol  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  staggered,  for  the  pain 
of  the  wound  was  extreme.  His  second  ran  to  his  assist- 
ance. 

“ It  is  only  in  the  arm,” 


said  O’Gradv,  firmly,  though 


eM 


HAKDY  AlTDf. 


his  voice  was  changed  by  the  agony  he  suffered;  “give 
me  another  pistol." 

Dick  at  the  same  moment  was  beside  Edward. 

“ You're  not  touched/'  he  said. 

Edward  coolly  pointed  to  his  hat. 

“Too  much  powder/'  said  Dick;  “I  thought  so  when 
his  pistols  were  loaded." 

“No/'  said  Edward,  “it  was  my  shot;  I saw  his  hand 
twitch." 

Scatterbrain  demanded  of  Dick  another  shot  on  the  part 
of  O'Grady. 

“ By  all  means,"  was  the  answer,  and  he  handed  afresh 
pistol  to  Edward.  “To  give  the  devil  his  due,"  said 
Dick,  “he  has  great  pluck,  for  you  hit  him  hard — see  how 
pale  he  looks — -I  don't  think  he  can  hurt  you  much  this 
time — but  watch  him  well,  my  dear  Ned." 

The  seconds  withdrew;  but  with  all  O'Grady's  desperate 
courage,  he  could  not  lift  the  pistol  with  his  right  arm, 
which,  though  hastily  bound  in  a handkerchief,  was  bleed- 
ing profusely,  and  racked  with  torture.  On  finding  his 
right  hand  powerless,  such  was  his  unflinching  courage, 
that  he  took  the  pistol  in  his  left;  this  of  course  impaired 
his  power  of  aim,  and  his  nerve  was  so  shattered  by  his 
bodily  suffering,  that  his  pistol  was  discharged  before  com- 
ing to  the  level,  and  Edward  saw  the  sod  torn  up  close  beside 
his  foot.  He  then,  of  course,  fired  in  the  air.  O'Grady 
would  have  fallen  but  for  the  immediate  assistance  of  his 
friends;  he  was  led  from  the  ground  and  placed  in  a car- 
riage, and  it  was  not  until  Edward  O'Connor  mounted  his 
horse  to  ride  away,  that  the  crowd  manifested  their  feel- 
ings. Then  three  tremendous  cheers  arose;  and  the  shouts 
pf  their  joy  and  triumph  reached  the  wounded  man  as  he 
was  driven  slowly  from  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

The  Widow  Flanagan  had  long  ago  determined  that, 
whenever  the  election  should  take  place,  she  would  take 
advantage  of  the  great  influx  of  visitors  that  event  would 
produce,  and  give  a grand  party.  Her  preparations  were 
all  made  to  secure  a good  muster  of  her  country  friends, 
when  once  the  day  of  nomination  was  fixed;  and  after  the 


HANDY  ANDY. 


m 


election  began,  she  threw  out  all  her  hooks  and  lines  in 
every  direction,  to  catch  every  straggler  worth  having, 
whom  the  election  brought  into  the  town.  It  required 
some  days  to  do  this;  ar  d it  was  not  until  the  eve  of  tho 
fifth,  that  her  house  was  turned  upside  down  and  inside  out 
for  the  reception  of  the  numerous  guests  whose  company 
she  expected. 

The  toil  of  the  day’s  election  was  over;  the  gentlemen 
had  dined  and  refreshed  themselves  with  creature  comforts; 
the  vicissitudes,  and  tricks,  and  chance  of  the  last  twelve 
hours  were  canvassed — when  the  striking  of  many  a clock, 
or  the  consultation  of  the  pocket-dial,  warned  those  who 
were  invited  to  Mrs.  Flanagan’s  party,  that  it  was  time 
to  wash  off  the  dust  of  the  battle-field  from  their  faces,  and 
mount  fresh  linen  and  cambric.  Those  who  were  pleased 
to  call  themselves  “good  fellows”  declared  for  “another 
bottle;”  the  faint-hearted  swore  that  an  autograph  invita- 
tion from  Venus  herself  to  the  heathen  Olympus,  with  nec- 
tar and  ambrosia  for  tea  and  bread-and-butter,  could  not 
tempt  them  from  the  Christian  enjoyment  of  a feather-bed 
after  the  fag  of  such  a day;  but  the  preux  chevaliers — 
those  who  did  deserve  to  win  a fair  lady — shook  off  sloth 
and  their  morning  trousers,  and  taking  to  tights  and  ac- 
tivity, hurried  to  the  party  of  the  buxom  widow. 

The  widow  was  in  her  glory;  hospitable,  she  enjoyed  re- 
ceiving her  friends — mirthful,  she  looked  forward  to  along 
night  of  downright  sport — coquettish,  she  would  have  good 
opportunity  of  letting  Tom  Durfy  see  how  attractive  she 
was  to  the  men — while  from  the  women  her  love  of  gossip 
and  scandal  (was  there  ever  a lady  in  her  position  without 
it?)  would  have  ample  gratification  in  the  accumulated  news 
of  the  county  of  twenty  miles  round.  She  had  but  one 
large  room  at  her  command,  and  that  was  given  up  to  the 
dancing;  and  being  cleared  of  tables,  chairs,  and  carpet, 
could  not  be  considered  by  Mrs.  Flanagan  as  a proper  re- 
ception-room for  her  guests,  who  were,  therefore,  received 
in  a smaller  apartment,  where  tea  and  coffee,  toast  and 
muffins,  ladies  and  gentlemen , were  all  smoking-hot  to- 
gether, and  the  candles  on  the  mantel-piece  trickling  down 
rivulets  of  fat  in  the  most  sympathetic  manner,  under  the 
influence  of  the  gentle  sighing  of  a broken  pane  of  glass. 
Which  the  head  of  an  inquiring  youth  in  the  street  had  stove 
in,  while  flattening  his  nose  against  it  in  the  hope  of  get* 


m 


HADHX  AKDY. 


ting  a glimpse  of  the  company  through  the  opening  in  the 
window-curtain. 

At  last,  when  the  room  could  hold  no  more,  the  com- 
pany were  drafted  off  to  the  dancing-room,  which  had  only 
long  deal  forms  placed  against  the  wall  to  rest  the  weary 
after  the  exertions  of  the  jig.  The  aforesaid  forms,  by  the 
bye,  were  borrowed  from  the  chapel;  the  old  wigsby  who 
had  the  care  of  them  for  some  time  doubted  the  propriety 
of  the  sacred  property  being  put  to  such  a profane  use,  un- 
til the  widow's  arguments  convinced  him  it  was  quite  right, 
after  she  had  given  him  a tenpenny-piece.  As  the  danc- 
ing-room could  not  boast  of  a luster,  the  defficiency 
was  supplied  by  tin  sconces  hung  against  the  wall;  for 
ormulu  branches  are  not  expected  to  be  plenty  in  the  prov- 
inces. But  let  the  widow  be  heard  for  herself,  as  she 
bustled  through  her  guests  and  caught  a critical  glance  at 
her  arrangements:  “What's  that  you're  faulting  now? — is 
it  my  deal  seats  without  cushions?  Ah,  you're  a lazy  Lar- 
ry, Bob  Larkin.  Cock  you  up  with  a cushion,  indeed!  if 
you  sit  the  less,  you'll  dance  the  more.  Ah,  Matty,  I sec 
you're  eying  my  tin  sconces  there;  well,  sure  they  have 
them  at  the  county  ball,  when  candlesticks  are  scarce,  and 
what  would  you  expect  grander  from  a poor  lone  woman? 
besides,  we  must  have  plenty  of  lights,  or  how  could  the 
beaus  see  the  girls? — though  I see,  Harry  Cassidy,  by  your 
sly  look,  that  you  think  they  look  as  well  in  the  dark — ah! 
you  divil  /"  and  she  slapped  his  shoulder  as  she  ran  past. 
“ Ah!  Mister  Murphy,  I'm  delighted  to  see  you;  what  kept 
you  so  late? — the  election  to  be  sure.  Well,  we're  beating 
them,  ain't  we?  Ah!  the  old  country  forever.  I hope 
Edward  O'Connor  will  be  here.  Come,  begin  the  dance; 
there's  the  piper  and  the  fiddler  in  the  corner  as  idle  as  a 
milestone  without  a number.  Tom  Durfy,  don't  ask  me  to 
dance,  for  I'm  engaged  for  the  next  four  sets." 

“ Oh!  but  the  first  to  me,"  said  Tom. 

“Ah!  yis,  Tom,  I was;  but  then,  you  know,  I couldn't 
refuse  the  stranger  from  Dublin,  and  the  English  captain 
that  will  be  there  by  and  by;  he's  a nice  man,  too,  and  long 
life  to  him,  wouldn't  fire  on  the  people  the  other  day;  I 
vow  to  the  Virgin,  all  the  women  in  the  room  ought  to  kiss 
him  when  he  comes  in.  Ah,  doctor!  there  you  are;  there's 
Mrs.  Gubbins  in  the  corner  dying  to  have  a chat  with  you; 
go  over  to  her.  Who's  that  taa&ing  the  piano  there?  Ah  I 


KANDY  ANDY. 


237 


James  Reddy,  it's  you , I see.  I hope  it's  in  tune;  'tis  only 
four  months  since  the  tuner  was  here.  I hope  you've  a 
new  song  for  us,  James.  The  tuner  is  so  scarce,  Mrs. 
Riley,  in  the  country — not  like  Dublin;  hut  we  poor  coun- 
try people,  you  know,  must  put  up  with  what  we  can  get; 
not  like  you  citizens,  who  has  lashings  of  luxuries  as  easy 
as  peas."  Then,  in  a confidential  wnisper,  she  said,  “I 
hope  your  daughter  has  practiced  the  new  piece  well  to- 
day, for  I couldn't  be  looking  after  her,  you  know,  to-day, 
being  in  such  a bustle  with  my  party;  I was  just  like  a dog 
in  a fair,  in  and  out  everywhere;  but  I hope  she's  perfect  in 
the  piece;"  then,  still  more  confidentially,  she  added,  “for 
he’s  here — ah!  I wish  it  was , Mrs.  Riley;"  then,  with  a 
nod  and  a wink,  oil  she  rattled  through  the  room  with  a 
word  for  everybody. 

The  Mrs.  Riley,  to  whom  she  was  so  confidential,  was  a 
friend  from  Dublin,  an  atrociously  vulgar  woman,  with  a 
more  vulgar  daughter,  who  were  on  a visit  with  Mrs.  Flan- 
agan. The  widow  and  the  mother  thought  Murtough 
Murphy  would  be  a good  speculation  for  the  daughter  to 
“ cock  her  cap  at " (to  use  their  own  phrase),  and  with  this 
view  the  visit  to  the  country  was  projected.  But  matters 
did  not  prosper;  Murphy  was  not  much  of  a marrying 
man;  and  if  ever  he  might  be  caught  in  the  toils  of  Hymen, 
some  frank,  joyous,  unaffected,  dashing  girl  would  have 
been  the  only  one  likely  to  serve  a writ  on  the  jovial  at- 
torney's heart.  Now,  Miss  Riley  was,  to  use  Murtough 
Murphy's  own  phrase,  “ a batch  of  brass  and  a stack  of  af- 
fectation," and  the  airs  she  attempted  to  play  off  on  the 
country  folk  (Murphy  in  particular)  only  made  her  an  ob- 
ject for  his  mischievous  merriment;  as  an  example,  we  may 
as  well  touch  on  one  little  incident  en  passant . 

The  widow  had  planned  one  day  a walking  party  to  a 
picturesque  ruin,  not  far  from  the  town,  and  determined 
that  Murphy  should  give  his  arm  to  Miss  Riley;  for  the 
party  was  arranged  in  couples,  with  a most  deadly  design 
on  the  liberty  of  the  attorney.  At  the  appointed  hour  all 
had  arrived  but  Murphy;  the  widow  thought  it  a happy 
chance,  so  she  hurried  off  the  party,  leaving  Miss  Riley  to 
wait  and  follow  under  his  escort.  In  about  a quarter  of 
an  hour  he  came,  having  met  the  widow  in  the  street,  who 
sent  him  back  for  Miss  Riley.  Now  Murtough  saw  the 
trap  which  was  intended  for  him,  and  thought  it  fair  to 


238 


HANDY  AND  Ye 


make  what  fun  he  could  of  the  affair,  and  being  already 
sickened  by  various  disgusting  exhibitions  of  the  damsel^ 
affectation,  he  had  the  less  scruple  of  “ taking  her  down  a 
peg,”  as  he  said  himself. 

When  Murtough  reached  tho  house  and  asked  for  Miss 
Riley,  he  was  ushered  into  the  little  drawing-room;  and  there 
was  that  very  full-blown  young  lady,  on  a chair  before  the 
fire,  her  left  foot  resting  on  the  fender,  her  right  crossed  over 
it,  and  her  body  thrown  back  in  a reclining  attitude;  with  a 
sentimental  droop  of  the  head  over  a greasy  novel;  her  fig- 
ure was  rather  developed  by  her  posture,  indeed  more  so 
than  Miss  Riley  quite  intended,  for  her  ankles  were  not 
unexceptionable,  and  the  position  of  her  feet  revealed 
rather  more.  A bonnet  and  green  veil  lay  on  the  hearth- 
rug, and  her  shawl  hung  over  the  handle  of  the  fire-shovel. 
When  Murphy  entered,  he  was  received  with  a faint  “ How 
do?” 

“ Pretty  well,  I thank  you — how  are  you?”  said  Murphy, 
in  his  rollicking  tone. 

“ Oh!  Miste'  Murphy,  you  are  so  odd.” 

“ Odd,  am  I — how  am  I odd?” 

“Oh!  so  odd.” 

“ Well,  you'd  better  put  on  your  bonnet  and  come  walk, 
and  we  can  talk  of  my  oddity  after.” 

“ Oh,  indeed,  I cawn’t  walk.” 

“Can't  walk!”  exclaimed  Murphy.  “Why  can't  you 
walk?  I was  sent  for  you.” 

“ 'Deed  I cawn't.” 

“ Ah,  now!”  said  Murphy,  giving  her  a little  tender  poke 
of  his  forefinger  on  the  shoulder. 

“ Don't,  Mister  Murphy,  pray  don't.” 

“ But  why  won't  you  walk?” 

“ I'm  too  delicate.” 

Murphy  uttered  a very  long  “Oh!  ! ! ! !” 

“ 'Deed  I am,  Miste'  Murphy,  though  you  may  disbelieve 
it.” 

“ Well — a nice  walk  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  the 
health.  Come  along!” 

“ Cawn't  indeed;  a gentle  walk  on  a terrace,  or  a shad- 
owy avenue,  is  all  very  well — the  Rotunda  Gardens,  for 
instance.” 

“ Hot  forgetting  the  military  bands  that  play  there,” 
said  Murphy,  “together  with  the  officers  of  all  the  bar- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


239 


racks  in  Dublin,  clinking  their  sabers  at  their  heels  along 
the  gravel  walks,  all  for  the  small  charge  of  a fi’penny 
bit.” 

Miss  Riley  gave  a reproachful  look  and  shrug  at  the 
vulgar  mention  of  a “frpenny  bit,”  which  Murphy  pur- 
posely said  to  shock  her  “ Brummagem  gentility.” 

“ How  can  you  be  so  odd,  Miste’  Murphy?”  she  said. 
“ I don’t  joke,  indeed;  a gentle  walk — I repeat  it — is  all 
very  well;  but  these  horrid  rough  country  walks — these 
masculine  walks,  I may  say — are  not  consistent  with  a 
delicate  frame  like  mine.” 

“ A delicate  frame!”  said  Murtough.  “ Faith,  TO  tell 
you  what  it  is.  Miss  Riley,”  said  he,  standing  bolt  upright 
before  her,  plunging  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  on  her  feet,  which  still  maintained  their  original 

Position  on  the  fender — “ I’ll  tell  you  what  it  is.  Miss  Riley; 

y the  vartue  of  my  oath,  if  your  other  leg  is  a match  for 
the  one  I see,  the  divil  a harm  a trot  from  this  to  Dublin 
would  do  you!” 

Miss  Riley  gave  a faint  scream,  and  popped  her  legs 
under  her  cnaii,  while  Murphy  ran  off  in  a shout  of  laugh- 
ter, and  joined  the  party,  to  whom  he  made  no  secret  of 
his  joke. 

But  all  this  did  not  damp  Miss  Riley’s  hopes  of  winning 
him.  She  changed  her  plan;  and  seeing  he  did  not  bow 
to  what  she  considered  the  supremacy  of  her  very  elegant 
manners,  she  set  about  feigning  at  once  admiration  and 
dread  of  him.  She  would  sometimes  lift  her  eyes  to  Mur- 
tough with  a languishing  expression,  and  declare  she  never 
knew  any  one  she  was  so  afraid  of;  but  even  this  double 
attack  on  his  vanity  could  not  turn  Murphy’s  flank,  and 
so  a very  laughable  flirtation  went  on  between  them,  he 
letting  her  employ  all  the  enginery  cf  her  sex  against  him, 
with  a mischievous  enjoyment  in  her  blindness  at  not  see- 
ing she  was  throwing  away  her  powder  and  shot. 

But  to  return  to  the  party;  a rattling  country-dance 
called  out  at  once  the  energies  of  the  piper,  the  fiddler, 
and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  left  those  who  had  more 
activity  in  their  heads  than  their  heels  to  sit  on  the  forms 
in  the  background  and  exercise  their  tongues  in  open 
scandal  of  their  mutual  friends  and  acquaintances  under 
cover  of  the  music,  which  prevented  the  most  vigorous 
talker^  from  being  heard  further  thm  his  or  her  next-door 


# 


21Q 


HASfDX  A1VDI. 

neighbor.  Dr.  Growling  had  gone  over  to  Mrs.  Gubbins^ 
.as  desired,  and  was  buned  deep  in  gossip. 

“What  an  extraordinary  affair  that  was  about  Miss 
O'Grady,  doctor!” 

“Very,  ma'am.” 

“ In  the  man's  bed  she  was,  I hear.” 

“ So  the  story  goes,  ma'am.” 

“ And  they  tell  me,  doctor,  that  when  her  father,  that 
immaculate  madman— God  keep  us  from  harm! — said  to 
poor  Mrs.  O'Grady,  in  a great  rage,  c Where  have  you 
brought  up  your  daughters  to  go  to,  ma'am?'  said  he;  and 
she,  poor  woman,  said,  ‘ To  church,  my  dear,'  thinking  it 
was  the  different  religion  the  Saracen  was  after;  so,  says 
he,  ‘Church,  indeed!  there's  the  church  she's  gone  to, 
ma'am,'  says  he,  turning  down  a quilted  counterpane. 

“ Are  you  sure  it  was  not  Marseilles,  ma'am?”  said  the 
doctor. 

“Well,  whatever  it  was,  * There’s  the  church  she  is  in/ 
eays  he,  pulling  her  out  of  the  bed.” 

“ Out  of  the  bed?”  repeated  the  doctor. 

“ Out  of  the  bed,  sir.” 

u Then  her  church  was  in  the  diocese  of  Down,”  said 
the  doctor. 

“ That's  good,  docthor — indeed,  that's  good.  ‘ She  was 
caught  in  bed,'  says  I;  and  * It's  the  diocese  of  Down,’  says 
you : faith,  that's  good.  I wish  the  diocese  was  your  own; 
for  you're  funny  enough  to  be  a bishop,  docthor,  you  lay 
howld  of  everything.  ” 

“ That's  a great  qualification  for  a miter,  ma'am,”  said 
the  doctor. 

“ And  the  poor  young  man  that  has  got  her  is  not  worth 
a farthing,  I hear,  docthor.” 

“ Then  he  must  be  the  curate,  ma'am;  though  I don't 
think  it's  a chapel  of  ease  he  has  got  into.” 

“Oh!  what  a tongue  you  have,  docthor,”  said  she,  laugh- 
ing; “faith,  you'll  kill  me.” 

“ That's  my  profession,  ma'am.  I am  a licentiate  of  the 
Eoyal  College;  but,  unfortunately  for  me,  my  humanity  is 
an  overmatch  for  my  science.  Phrenologically  speaking, 
my  benevolence  is  large,  and  my  destructiveness  and  ac- 
quisitiveness small.” 

“Ah,  there  you  go  off  on  another  tack;  and  what  a 
funny  new  thing  that  is  you  talk  of!— that  free  knowledge 


HANDY  ANDY. 


241 


or  crow-knowledge,  or  whatever  sort  of  knowledge  you  call 
it.  And  there's  one  thing  I want  to  ask  you  about:  there's 
a bump  the  ladies  have  the  gentlemen  always  laugh  at,  I 
remark. " 

“ That's  very  rude  of  them,  ma'am,"  said  the  doctor 
dryly.  “ Is  it  in  the  anterior  region,  or  the — " 

“ Docthor,  don't  talk  queer." 

“I'm  only  speaking  scientifically,  ma'am." 

“Well,  I think  your  scientific  discourse  is  only  an  ex- 
cuse for  saying  impudent  things;  I mean  the  back  of  their 
heads." 

“ I thought  so,  ma'am." 

“ They  call  it — dear  me,  I forget — something — motive — 
motive — it's  Latin — but  I am  no  scholar  d,  docthor." 

“That's  manifest,  ma'am." 

“ But  a lady  is  not  bound  to  know  Latin,  docthor." 

“ Certainly  not,  ma'am — nor  any  other  language  except 
that  of  the  eyes." 

Now  this  was  a wicked  hit  of  the  doctor's,  for  Mrs.  Gub- 
bins  squinted  frightfully;  but  Mrs.  Gubbins  did  not  know 
that,  so  she  went  on. 

“ The  bump  I mean,  docthor,  is  motive  something- 
motive — motive — I have  it! — motive-^m." 

“Now  I know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  doctor;  “am- 
ativeness. " 

“That's  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gubbins;  “they  call  it  number 
one,  sometimes;  I suppose  amativeness  is  Latin  for  num- 
ber one.  Now,  what  does  that  bump  mean?" 

“Ah,  madam,"  said  the  doctor,  puzzled  for  a moment 
to  give  an  explanation;  but  in  a few  seconds  he  answered, 
“ That's  a beautiful  provision  of  nature.  That,  ma'am, 
is  the  organ  which  makes  your  sex  take  compassion  on 
ours.  "* 

“Wonderful!"  said  Mrs.  Gubbins;  “ but  how  good  nat- 
ure is  in  giving  us  provision!  and  I don't  think  there  is  a 
finer  provision  county  in  Ireland  than  this." 

“ Certainly  not,  ma'am,"  said  the  doctor;  but  the  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Gubbins  began  to  speak  of  provisions,  he  was 
sure  she  would  get  into  a very  solid  discourse  about  her 

* This  very  ingenious  answer  was  really  given  by  an  Irish  pro- 
fessor to  an  over-inquisitive  lady. 


243 


HANDY  ANDY. 


own  farms;  so  he  left  his  seat  beside  her,  and  went  over  tc 
Mrs.  Riley,  to  see  what  fun  could  be  had  in  that  quarter. 

Her  daughter  was  cutting  all  sorts  of  barefaced  capera 
about  the  room,  “astonishing  the  natives,”  as  she  wa? 
pleased  to  say;  and  Growling  was  looking  on  in  amused 
wonder  at  this  specimen  of  vulgar  effrontery,  whom  he  had 
christened  “ The  Brazen  Baggage  ” the  first  time  he  saw 
her. 

**  “You  are  looking  at  my  daughter,  sir,”  said  the  de- 
lighted mother. 

“Yes,  ma'am,”  said  the  doctor,  profoundly. 

“ She's  very  young,  sir.” 

“ She’ll  mend  of  that,  ma’am.  We  were  young  once 
ourselves.” 

This  iras  not  very  agreeable  to  the  mother,  who  dressed 
rather  in  a juvenile  style. 

“ I mean,  sir,  that  you  must  excuse  any  little  awkward- 
ness about  her — that  all  arises  out  of  timidity — she  was  lost 
with  bashfulness  till  I ro  ..  i her  out  of  it — but  now  I think 
she  is  beginning  to  have  a little  self-possession.” 

The  doctor  was  amused,  and  took  a large  pinch  of  snuff; 
he  enjoyed  the  phrase  “ beginning  to  have  a little  self- 
possession  ” being  applied  to  the  most  brazen  baggage  he 
ever  saw. 

“ She’s  very  accomplished,  sir,”  continued  the  mother 
“ Mister  Jew-val  (Duval)  taitches  her  dancin’;  and  Musha 
Dunny-ai  (Mona.  Du  Noyer)*  French.  Misther  Low-jeer 
(Logier)  hasn’t  the  like  of  her  in  his  academy  on  the  pianya; 
and  as  for  the  harp,  you’d  think  she  wouldn’t  lave  a 
sthring  in  it.” 

“ She  must  be  a treasure  to  her  teachers,  ma’am,”  said 
the  doctor. 

“Faith,  you  may  well  say  threasure — it  costs  handfuls 
o’  money;  but  sure,  while  there’s  room  for  improvement, 
every  apartment  must  be  attended  to,  and  the  vocal  apart- 
ment is  filled  by  Sir  John — fifteen  shillin’s  a lesson,  no 
less.” 

“ What  silvery  tones  she  ought  to  bring  out,  ma’am,  at 
that  rate!” 

“Faith,  you  may  say  that,  sir.  It’s  coining,  so  it  is, 

* My  own  worthy  and  excellent  master,  to  whom  I gladly  pay 
this  tribute  of  kindly  remembrance. 


HAiNDY  AHDY. 


with  them  tip-top  men*  and  ruins  one  almost  to  have  a 
daughter;  every  shake  I get  out  of  her  is  to  the  tune  of  a 
ten-poun'  note,  at  least.  You  shall  hear  her  by  and  by; 
the  minit  the  dancin'  is  over,  she  shall  sing  you  the  ‘ Be- 
wildheredMaid.'  Do  you  know  the  ‘Bewildhered  Maid/ 
sir?" 

“ I haven't  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance,  ma'am,"  said 
the  doctor. 

The  dancing  was  soon  over,  and  the  mother's  threat  put 
into  execution.  Miss  Riley  was  led  over  to  the  piano  by 
the  widow,  with  the  usual  protestations  that  she  was  hoarse. 
It  took  some  time  to  get  the  piano  ready,  for  an  extensive 
clearance  was  to  be  made  from  it  of  cups  and  saucers,  and 
half -empty  glasses  of  negus,  before  it  could  be  opened; 
then,  after  various  thrummings  and  hummings  and  haw- 
ings,  the  “Bewildhered  Maid  " made  her  appearance  in  the 
wildest  possible  manner,  and  the  final  shriek  was  quito 
worthy  of  a maniac.  Loud  applause  followed,  and  the 
wriggling  Miss  Riley  was  led  from  the  piano  by  Janies 
Reddy,  who  had  stood  at  the  back  of  her  chair,  swaying  back- 
ward and  forward  to  the  music,  with  a maudlin  expression 
of  sentiment  on  his  face,  and  a suppressed  exclamation  of 
“ B-u-tiful!"  after  every  extra  shout  from  the  young  lady. 

Growling  listened  with  an  expression  of  as  much  dissat- 
isfaction as  if  he  had  been  drinking  weak  punch. 

“I  see  you  don't  like  that,"  said  the  widow  to  him, 
under  her  breath;  “ ah,  you're  too  hard,  doctor — consider 
she  sung  out  of  good-nature. " 

“ I don't  know  if  it  was  out  of  good-nature,"  said  he; 
“but  I'm  sure  it  was  out  of  tune." 

James  Reddy  led  back  Miss  Riley  to  her  mamma,  who 
was  much  delighted  with  the  open  manifestations  of  “ the 
poet's  " admiration. 

“ She  ought  to  be  proud,  sir,  of  your  conjunction , I'm 
sure.  A poet  like  you,  sir!  what  beautiful  rhymes  them 
wor  you  did  on  the  'lection." 

“A  trifle,  ma'am — a mere  trifle — a little  occasional 
thing." 

“ Oh!  but  them  two  beautiful  lines — 

“‘We  tread  the  land  that  bore  us. 

Our  green  flag  glitters  o’er  us  I*  ” 

“ They  are  only  a quotation,  ma'am,"  said  Reddy.' 

“ Oh,  like  every  man  of  true  genins,  sir,  you  try  and 


244 


HAHDY  AHDY. 


undervalue  your  own  work;  but  call  them  lines  what  you 
like,  to  my  taste  they  are  the  most  beautiful  lines  in  the 
thing  you  done.” 

Beddy  did  not  know  what  to  answer,  and  his  confusion 
was  increased  by  catching  old  Growling's  eye,  who  was 
chuckling  at  the  mal-a-propos  speech  of  the  flourishing 
Mrs.  Biley. 

“ Don't  you  sing  yourself,  sir?”  said  that  lady. 

(€  To  be  sure  he  does,”  cried  the  Yv'idow  Flanagan;  “ and 
he  must  give  us  one  of  his  own.” 

“Oh!” 

“No  excuses;  now,  James!” 

“Where's  Duggan?”  inquired  the  poetaster,  affectedly; 
“ I told  him  to  be  here  to  accompany  me.” 

“I  attend  your  muse,  sir,”  said  a miserable  structure  of 
skin  and  bone,  advancing  with  a low  bow  and  obsequious 
smile;  tins  was  the  poor  music-master,  who  set  Beddy 's 
rhymes  to  music  as  bad,  and  danced  attendance  on  him 
everywhere. 

The  music-master  fumbled  over  a hackneyed  prelude  to 
show  his  command  of  the  instrument. 

Miss  Biley  whispered  to  her  mamma  that  it  was  out  of 
one  of  her  first  books  of  lessons. 

Mrs.  Flanagan,  with  a seductive  smirk,  added,  “what 
he  was  going  to  give  them?”  The  poet  replied,  “A  little 
thing  of  his  own — < Bosalie;  or.  The  Broken  Heart ' — senti- 
mental, but  rather  sad.” 

The  musical  skeleton  rattled  his  bones  against  the  ivory 
in  a very  one,  two,  three,  four  symphony;  the  poet  ran  hif 
fingers  through  his  hair,  pulled  up  his  collar,  gave  his  head 
a jaunty  nod,  and  commenced: 

ROSALIE; 

OR,  THE  BROKEN  HEART. 

Fare  thee— fare  thee  well— alas! 

Fare — farewell  to  thee! 

On  pleasure’s  wings,  as  dew-drops  fade. 

Or  honey  stings  the  bee, 

My  heart  is  as  sad  as  a black  stone 
Under  the  blue  sea. 

Oh,  Rosalie!  Oh,  Rosalie! 


HAKDY  AKDT. 


m 

As  ruder  rocks  with  envy  glow. 

Thy  coral  lips  to  see. 

So  the  weeping  waves  more  briny  grow 
With  my  salt  tears  for  thee! 

My  heart  is  as  sad  as  a black  stone 
Under  the  blue  sea. 

Oh,  Rosalie!  Oh,  Rosalie! 

After  this  brilliant  specimen  of  the  mysteriously  senti- 
mental and  imaginative  school  was  sufficiently  applauded, 
dancing  was  recommenced,  and  Reddy  seated  himself  beside 
Mrs.  Riley,  the  incense  of  whose  praise  was  sweet  in  his 
nostrils.  “ Oh,  you  have  a soul  for  poetry  indeed,  sir/' 
said  the  lady.  “ I was  bewildered  with  all  your  beautiful 
idays ; that  honey  stings  the  bee ' is  a beautiful  iday — so 
expressive  of  the  pains  and  pleasures  of  love.  Ah!  I was 
the  most  romantic  creature  myself  once.  Mister  Reddy, 
though  you  wouldn't  think  it  now;  but  the  cares  of  the 
world  and  a family  takes  the  shine  out  of  us.  I remember 
when  the  men  used  to  be  making  hats  in  my  father's 
establishment — for  my  father  was  the  most  extensive  hatter 
in  Dublin — I don't  know  if  you  knew  my  father  was  a 
hatter;  but  you  know,  sir,  manufactures  must  be  followed, 
and  that's  no  reason  why  people  shouldn't  enjoy  po'thry  and 
refinement.  Well,  I was  going  to  tell  you  how  romantic  I 
was,  and  when  the  men  were  making  the  hats — I don't 
know  whether  you  ever  saw  them  making  hats — " 

Reddy  declared  he  never  did. 

“ Weil,  it's  like  the  witches  round  the  iron  pot  in  * Mac- 
beth/did you  ever  see  Kemble  in  ' Macbeth'?  Oh!  he'd 
make  your  blood  freeze,  though  the  pit  is  so  hot  you 
wouldn't  have  a dhry  rag  on  you.  But  to  come  to  the 
hats.  When  they're  making  them,  they  have  hardly  any 
crown  to  them  at  all,  and  they  are  all  with  great  sprawling 
wide  flaps  to  them;  well,  the  moment  I clapped  my  eyes  on 
them,  I thought  of  a Spanish  nobleman  directly,  with  his 
slouched  hat  and  black  feathers  like  a hearse.  Yes,  I as- 
sure you,  the  broad  hat  always  brought  to  my  mind  a 
Spanish  noble  or  an  Italian  noble  (that  would  do  as  well, 
you  know),  or  a robber  or  a murderer,  which  is  all  the 
same  thing." 

Reddy  could  not  conceive  a hat  manufactory  as  a favor- 
able nursery  for  romance;  but  as  the  lady  praised  his  song, 
he  listened  complacently  to  her  hatting. 


# 


246  HAKJDY  AK£>¥. 

“ And  that’s  another  beautiful  iday,  sir,’5  continued  the 
lady,  “ where  you  make  the  rocks  jealous  of  each  other — 
that’s  so  beautiful  to  bring  in  a bit  of  nature  into  a meta- 
physic that  way.” 

“ You  flatter  me,  ma’am,”  said  Eeddy;  “but  if  I might 
speak  of  my  own  work — that  is,  if  a man  may  ever  speak 
of  his  own  work—” 

“ And  why  not,  sir?”  asked  Mrs.  Eiley,  with  a business- 
like air;  “ who  has  so  good  a right  to  speak  of  the  work  as 
the  man  who  done  it,  and  knows  what’s  in  it?” 

“ That’s  a very  sensible  remark  of  yours,  ma’am,  and  I 
will  therefore  take  leave  to  say,  that  the  idea  I am  proud- 
est of,  is  the  dark  and  heavy  grief  of  the  heart  being  com- 
pared to  a blade  stone,  and  its  depth  of  misery  implied  by 
the  sea.” 

“ Thrue  for  you,”  said  Mrs.  Eiley;  “ and  the  blue  sea — 
ah!  that  didn’t  escape  me;  that’s  an  elegant  touch — the 
black  stone  and  the  blue  sea;  and  black  and  blue,  such  a 
beautiful  conthrast!” 

“ I own,”  said  Eeddy,  “ I attempted,  in  that,  the  bold 
and  daring  style  of  expression  which  Byron  has  introduced.” 
“ Oh,  he’s  a fine  pote  certainly,  but  he’s  not  moral,  sir; 
and  I’m  af eared  to  let  my  daughter  read  such  combustibles.” 
“But  he’s  grand,”  said  Eeddy;  “for  instance — 

“ * She  walks  in  beauty  like  the  night/ 

How  fine!” 

“ But  how  wicked!”  said  Mrs.  Eiley.  “I  don’t  like  that 
night-walking  style  of  poetry  at  all,  so  say  no  more  about 
it;  we’ll  talk  of  something  else.  You  admire  music.  I’m 
sure.” 

“ I adore  it,  ma’am.” 

“Do  you  like  the  piano?” 

“ Oh,  ma’am!  I could  live  under  a piano.” 

“My  daughter  plays  the  piano  beautiful.” 

“ Charmingly.  ” 

“ Oh,  but  if  you  heerd  her  play  the  harp,  you’d  think 
she  wouldn’t  lave  a sthring  on  it  ” (this  was  Mrs.  Eiley’s 
favorite  bit  of  praise);  “and  a beautiful  harp  it  is,  one  of 
Egan’s  double  action,  all  over  goold,  and  cost  eighty 
guineas;  Miss  Cheese  chuse  it  for  her.  Do  you  know  Miss 
Cheese?  she’s  as  plump  as  a partridge,  with  a voice  like  a 
lark;  she  sings  elegant  duets.  Do  you  ever  sing  duets?” 


HANDY  ANDY, 


247 


4€  Not  often.” 

“ Ah!  if  you  could  hear  Pether  Bowling  sing  duets  with 
my  daughter!  he'd  make  the  hair  stand  straight  on  your 
head  with  the  delight.  Oh*  he's  a powerful  singer!  you 
never  heerd  the  like;  he  runs  up  and  down  as  fast  as  a 
lamplighter; — and  the  beautiful  turns  he  gives;  oh!  I never 
heerd  any  one  sing  a second  like  Pether.  I declare  he 
sings  a second  to  that  degree  that  you’d  thinh  it  was  the 
first , and  never  at  a loss  for  a shake;  and  then  off  he  goes 
in  a run,  that  you'd  think  he'd  never  come  back;  but  he 
does  bring  it  back  into  the  tune  again  with  as  nate  a fit  as 
a Limerick  glove.  Oh!  I never  heerd  a singer  like 
Pether! ! !'' 

There  is  no  knowing  how  much  more  Mrs.  Riley  would 
have  said  about  “ Pether/'  if  the  end  of  the  dance  had  not 
cut  her  eloquence  short  by  permitting  the  groups  of  dancers, 
as  they  promenaded,  to  throw  in  their  desultory  discourse 
right  and  left,  and  so  break  up  anything  like  a consecutive 
conversation. 

But  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  all  Mrs.  Flanagan's 
guests  were  of  the  Gubbins  and  Riley  stamp.  There  were 
some  of  the  better  class  of  the  country  people  present;  in- 
telligence and  courtesy  in  the  one  sex,  and  gentleness  and 
natural  grace  in  the  other,  making  a society  not  to  be  ridi- 
culed in  the  mass,  though  individual  instances  of  folly  and 
ignorance  and  purse-proud  effrontery  were  amongst  it. 

But  to  Growling  every  phase  of  society  afforded  gratifi- 
cation; and  while  no  one  had  a keener  relish  for  such 
scenes  as  the  one  in  which  we  have  just  witnessed  him,  the 
learned  and  the  courteous  could  be  met  with  equal  weapons 
by  the  doctor  when  he  liked. 

Quitting  the  dancing-room,  he  went  into  the  little  draw- 
ing-room, where  a party  of  a very  different  stamp  was  en- 

5 aged  in  conversation.  Edward  O'Connor  and  the  “ dear 
English  captain ''  as  Mrs.  Flanagan  called  him,  were  deep 
in  an  interesting  discussion  about  the  relative  practices  in 
Ireland  and  England  on  the  occasions  of  elections  and 
trials,  and  most  other  public  events;  and  O'Connor  and  two 
or  three  listeners — amongst  whom  was  a Mr.  Monk,  whose 
daughters,  remarkably  nice  girls,  were  of  the  party — were 
delighted  with  the  feeling  tone  in  which  the  Englishman 
spoke  of  the  poorer  classes  of  Irish,  and  how  often  the  ex- 
cesses into  which  they  sometimes  fell  were  viewed  through 


m 


HAKBY  AKBY* 


an  exaggerated  or  distorted  medium,  and  what  was  fre- 
quently mere  exuberance  of  spirit  pronounced  and  pun- 
ished as  riot. 

/ I never  saw  a people  over  whom  those  in  authority  re- 
quire more  good  temper/"  remarked  the  captain. 

“ Gentleness  goes  a long  way  with  them,”  said  Edward. 

“ And  violence  never  succeeds,”  added  Mr.  Monk. 

“ You  are  of  opinion,  then,”  said  the  soldier,  “ they  are 
not  to  be  forced?* 

“ Except  to  do  what  they  like,”  chimed  in  Growling. 

“ That's  a very  Irish  sort  of  coercion,”  said  the  captain, 
smiling. 

“ And  therefore  fit  for  Irishmen,”  said  Growling;  “ and 
I never  knew  an  intelligent  Englishman  yet,  who  came  to 
Ireland,  who  did  not  find  it  out.  Paddy  has  a touch  of 
the  pig  in  him — he  won't  be  driven;  but  you  may  coax 
him  a long  way:  or  if  you  appeal  to  his  reason — for  he 
happens  to  have  such  a thing  about  him — you  may  per- 
suade him  into  what  is  right  if  you  take  the  trouble.” 

“ By  Jove!”  said  the  captain,  “it  is  not  easy  to  argue 
with  Paddy;  the  rascals  are  so  ready  with  quip,  and  equi- 
voque, and  queer  answers,  that  they  generally  get  the  best 
of  it  in  talk,  however  fallacious  may  be  their  argument; 
and  when  you  think  you  have  Pat  in  a comer  and  escape  is 
inevitable,  he's  off  without  your  knowing  how  he  slipped 
through  your  fingers.” 

When  the  doctor  joined  the  conversation,  Edward,  know- 
ing his  powers,  gave  up  the  captain  into  his  hands,  and  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  Miss  Monk,  who  had  just  entered  from 
the  dancing-room,  and  retired  to  a chair  in  the  corner. 

She  and  Edward  soon  got  engaged  in  a conversation  par- 
ticularly interesting  to  him.  She  spoke  of  having  lately 
met  Fanny  Dawson,  and  was  praising  her  in  such  terms  of 
affectionate  admiration,  that  Edward  hung  upon  every 
word  with  delight.  I know  not  if  Miss  Monk  was  aware  of 
Edward's  devotion  in  that  quarter  before,  but  she  could 
not  look  upon  the  bland,  though  somewhat  sad  smile  which 
arched  his  expressive  month,  and  the  dilated  eye  which 
beamed  as  her  praises  were  uttered,  without  being  than 
conscious  that  Fanny  Dawson  had  made  him  captive. 

She  was  pleased,  and  continued  the  conversation  with 
that  inherent  pleasure  a woman  has  in  touching  a man's 
heart,  even  though  it  be  not  on  her  own  account;  and  it 


249 


Was  done  with  tact  and  delicacy  which  only  women  possess, 
and  which  is  so  refined  that  the  rougher  nature  of  man  is 
insensible  of  its  drift  and  influence,,  and  he  is  betrayed  by  a 
net  whose  meshes  are  too  fine  for  his  perception.  Edward 
O’Connor  never  dreamed  that  Miss  Monk  saw  he  was  in  love 
with  the  subject  of  their  discourse.  While  they  were  talk- 
ing, the  merry  hostess  entered;  and  the  last  words  the  cap- 
tain uttered  fell  upon  her  ear,  and  then  followed  a reply 
from  Growling,  saying  that  Irishmen  were  as  hard  to  catch 
as  quicksilver.  “Ay,  and  as  hard  to  keep  as  any  other 
silver,”  said  the  widow;  “don’t  believe  what  these  wild 
Irish  fellows  tell  you  of  themselves;  they  are  all  mad  divils 
alike — you  steady  Englishmen  are  the  safe  men — and  the 
girls  know  it.  And  faith,  if  you  try  them,”  added  she, 
laughing,  “ I don’t  know  any  one  more  likely  to  have  luck 
with  them  than  yourself;  for,  ’pon  my  conscience,  captain, 
we  ail  dote  on  you  since  you  wTould  not  shoot  the  people 
the  other  day.” 

There  was  a titter  among  the  girls  at  this  open  avowal. 

“ Ah,  w7hy  wouldn’t  I say  it?”  exclaimed  she,  laughing. 
“I  am  not  a mealy-mouthed  miss;  sure  I may  tell  the 
truth;  and  I wouldn’t  trust  one  o’  ye,”  she  added,  with  a 
ver^  significant  nod  of  the  head  at  the  gentlemen,  “ except 
the  captain.  Yes — I’d  trust  one  more — I’d  trust  Mister 
O’Connor;  I think  he  really  could  be  true  to  a woman.” 

The  words  fell  sweetly  upon  his  ear;  the  expression  of 
trust  in  his  faith  at  that  moment,  even  from  the  laughing 
widow,  was  pleasing;  for  his  heart  was  full  of  the  woman 
he  adored,  and  it  was  only  by  long  waiting  and  untiring 
fidelity  she  could  ever  become  his. 

He  bowed  courteously  to  the  compliment  the  hostess  paid 
him;  and  she,  immediately  taking  advantage  of  his  ac- 
knowledgment, said  that  after  having  paid  him  such  a 
pretty  compliment,  he  couldn’t  refuse  her  to  sing  a song. 
Edward  never  liked  to  sifig  in  mixed  companies,  and  was 
about  making  some  objection,  when  the  widow  interrupted 
him  with  one  of  those  Irish  “ ah,  now’s,”  so  hard  to  resist. 
“ Besides,  all  the  noisy  pack  are  in  the  dancing-room,  or, 
indeed,  I wouldn’t  ask  you;  and  here  there’s  not  one  won’t 
be  charmed  with  you.  Ah,  look  at  Miss  Mon$>  there — I 
know  she’s  dying  to  hear  you;  and  see  all  the  ladies  hang- 
ing on  your  lips  absolutely.  Can  you  refuse  me  after  that , 
UQW?” 


250 


HANDY  ANDY. 


It  was  true  that  in  the  small  room  where  they  sat  there 
were  only  those  who  were  worthy  of  better  things  than 
Edward  would  have  ventured  on  to  the  many;  and  filled 
with  the  tender  and  passionate  sentiment  his  conversation 
with  Miss  Monk  had  awakened,  one  of  those  effusions  of 
deep,  and  earnest,  and  poetic  feeling  which  love  had 
prompted  to  his  muse  rose  to  his  lips,  and  he  began  to 
sing. 

All  were  silent,  for  the  poet  singer  was  a favorite,  and 
all  knew  with  what  touching  expression  he  gave  his  com- 
positions; but  now  the  mellow  tones  of  his  voice  seemed  to 
vibrate  with  a feeling  in  more  than  common  unison  with 
the  words,  and  his  dark  earnest  eyes  beamed  with  a devo- 
tion of  which  she  who  was  the  object  might  be  proud. 

A LEAF  THAT  REMINDS  OF  THEE. 


i. 

How  sweet  is  the  hour  we  give, 

Y/hen  fancy  may  wander  free, 

To  the  friends  who  in  memory  live! 

For  then  I remember  thee ! 

Then  wing’d,  like  the  dove  from  the  ark, 
My  heart,  o’er  a stormy  sea, 

Brings  back  to  my  lonely  bark 
A leaf  that  reminds  of  thee! 


n. 

But  still  does  the  sky  look  dark,\ 

The  waters  still  deep  and  wide^ 

Oh  ! when  may  my  lonely  bark 
In  peace  on  the  shore  abide? 

But  through  the  future  far. 

Dark  though  my  course  may  be. 

Thou  art  my  guiding  star! 

My  heart  still  turns  to  thee. 

in. 

When  I see  thy  friends  I smile, 

I sigh  when  I hear  thy  name; 

But  they  can  not  tell  the  while 

Whence  the  smile  or  the  sadness  came; 

Vainly  the  world  may  deem 
The  cause  of  my  sighs  they  know; 

The  breeze  that  stirs  the  stream 
Knows  not  the  depth  below. 


EtAttD*  AHDY. 


281 


Before  the  first  verse  of  the  song  was  over,  the  entrance 
to  the  room  was  filled  with  eager  listeners,  and,  at  its  con- 
clusion, a large  proportion  of  the  company  from  the  danc- 
ing-room had  crowded  round  the  door,  attracted  by  the 
vich  voice  of  the  singer,  and  fascinated  into  silence  by  the 
charm  of  his  song.  Perhaps  after  mental  qualities,  the 
most  valuable  gift  a man  can  have  is  a fine  voice;  it  at 
once  commands  attention,  and  may  therefore  be  ranked 
in  a man's  possession  as  highly  as  beauty  in  a woman's. 

In  speaking  thus  of  voice,  I do  not  allude  to  the  power 
of  singing,  but  the  mere  physical  quality  of  a,  fine  voice, 
which  in  the  bare  utterance  of  the  simplest  words  is  pleas- 
ing, but,  becoming  the  medium  for  the  interchange  of 
higher  thoughts,  is  irresistible.  Superadded  to  this  gift, 
which  Edward  possessed,  the  song  he  sung  had  meaning  in 
it  which  could  reach  the  hearts  of  all  his  auditory,  though 
its  poetry  might  be  appreciated  by  but  few;  its  imagery 
grew  upon  a stem  whose  root  was  in  every  bosem,  and  the 
song  that  possesses  this  quality,  whatever  may  be  its  de- 
fects, contains  not  only  the  elements  of  future  fame,  but 
of  immediate  popularity.  Startling  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  silence  the  song  had  produced  and  the  simulta- 
neous clapping  of  hands  outside  the  door  when  it  w7as  over; 
not  the  poor  plaudit  of  a fashionable  assembly,  whose 
“ bravo"  is  an  attenuated  note  of  admiration,  struggling 
into  a sickly  existence  and  expiring  in  a sigh — applause  of 
so  suspicious  a charcter,  that  no  one  seems  desirous  of 
owTning  it — a feeble  forgery  of  satisfaction  v hicb  people 
think  it  disgraceful  to  be  caught  uttering.  The  ciapping 
was  not  the  plaudits  of  high-bred  hands,  whose  sound  is 
like  the  fluttering  of  small  wings,  just  enough  to  stir  gos- 
samer— but  not  the  heart.  No;  such  was  not  the  applause 
which  followed  Edward's  song;  he  had  the  outburst  of 
heart-warm  and  unsophisticated  satisfaction  unfettered  by 
chilling  convention.  Most  of  his  hearers  did  not  know 
that  it  was  disgraceful  to  admit  being  too  well  pleased, 
and  the  poor  innocents  really  opened  their  mouths  and 
clapped  their  hands.  Oh,  fy!  tell  it  not  in  Grosvenor 
Square. 

And  now  James  Reddy  contrived  to  be  asked  to  sing; 
the  coxcomb,  not  content  with  his  luck  in  being  listened  to 
before,  panted  for  such  another  burst  of  applause  as 
greeted  Edward,  whose  song  he  had  notion  was  any  better 


m 


RAM)*  AKi )¥. 


than  his  own;  the  pnppy  fancied  his  rubbish  of  the  “ black 
stone  under  the  blue  sea  " partook  of  a grander  character 
of  composition,  and  that  while  Edward's  “ breeze " but 
“ stirred  the  stream/'  he  had  fathomed  the  ocearn  But  a 
“ heavy  blow  and  great  discouragement " was  in  store  for 
Master  James,  for  as  he  commenced  a love  ditty  which  he 
called  by  the  fascinating  title  of  “ The  Rose  of  Silence," 
and  verily  believed  would  have  enraptured  every  woman 
in  the  room,  a powerful  voice,  richly  flavored  with  the 
brogue,  shouted  forth  outside  the  door,  “ Ma’am , if  you 
plaze,  supper’s  sarved.”  The  effect  was  magical;  a rush 
was  made  to  supper  by  the  crowd  in  the  door-way,  and 
every  gentleman  in  the  little  drawing-room  offered  his  arm 
to  a lady,  and  led  her  off  without  the  smallest  regard  to 
Reddy's  singing. 

His  look  was  worth  anything  as  he  saw  himself  thus  un- 
ceremoniously deserted  and  likely  soon  to  be  left  in  sole 

Possession  of  the  room;  the  old  doctor  was  enchanted  with 
is  vexation;  and  when  James  ceased  to  sing,  as  the  last 
couple  were  going,  tbe  doctor  interposed  his  request;  that 
the  song  should  be  finished. 

“ Don't  stop,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  doctor;  “ that's 
the  best  song  I have  heard  a long  time,  and  you  must  in- 
dulge me  by  finishing  it — that's  a gem." 

xc  Why,  you  see,  doctor,  they  have  all  gone  to  supper." 

“ Yes,  and  the  devil  choke  them  with  it,"  said  Growling, 
“ for  their  want  of  taste;  but  never  mind  that:  one  judi- 
cious listener  is  worth  a crowd  of  such  fools,  you'll  admit; 
so  sit  down  again  and  sing  for  me." 

The  doctor  seated  himself  as  he  spoke,  and  there  he  kept 
Reddy,  who  he  knew  was  very  fond  of  a good  supper,  sing- 
ing away  for  the  bare  life,  with  only  one  person  for  au- 
dience, and  that  one  humbugging  him.  The  scene  was 
rich;  the  gravity  with  which  the  doctor  carried  on  the  quiz 
was  admirable,  and  the  gullibility  of  the  coxcomb  who  was 
held  captive  by  his  affected  admiration  exquisitely  absurd 
and  almost  past  belief;  even  Growling  himself  was  amazed 
as  he  threw  in  a rapturous  “ charming"  or  “ bravissimo," 
at  the  egregious  folly  of  his  dupe,  who  still  continued  sing- 
ing, while  the  laughter  of  the  supper-room  and  the  invit- 
ing clatter  of  its  knives  and  forks  were  ringing  in  his  ear. 
When  Reddy  concluded,  the  doctor  asked  might  he  venture 
to  request  the  last  verse  again;  “for,”  continued  he. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


25$ 


“ there  is  a singular  beauty  of  thought  and  felicity  of  ex- 
pression in  its  numbers,  leaving"  the  mind  unsatisfied  with 
but  one  hearing;  once  more,  if  you  please." 

Poor  Eeddy  repeated  the  last  verse. 

“ Very  charming,  indeed!"  said  the  doctor. 

“ You  really  like  it?"  said  Eeddy. 

“ Like?"  said  the  doctor — “ sir,  like  is  a faint  expres- 
sion of  what  I think  of  that  song.  Moore  had  better  look 
to  his  laurels,  sir!" 

“Oh,  doctor!" 

“ Ah,  you  know  yourself,"  said  Growling. 

“Then  that  last,  doctor — ?"  said  Eeddy,  inquiringly. 

“Is  your  most  successful  achievement,  sir;  there  is  a 
mysterious  shadowing  forth  of  something  in  it  which  is 
very  fine. " 

“You  like  it  better  than  the  ‘ Black  Stone*?" 

“Pooh!  sir;  the  ‘ Black  Stone/ if  I maybe  allowed  an 
image,  is  but  ordinary  paving,  while  that  ‘ Eose  of  Silenoe  * 
of  yours  might  strew  the  path  to  Parnassus. " 

“ And  is  it  not  strange,  doctor,"  said  Eeddy,  in  a re- 
proachful tone,  “that  them  people  should  be  insensible  to 
that  song,  and  leave  the  room  while  I was  singing  it?** 

“Too  good  for  them,  sir — above  their  comprehension." 

“ Besides,  so  rude!"  said  Eeddy. 

“ Oh,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  doctor,  “ when  you 
know  more  of  the  world,  you*ll  find  out  that  an  appeal  from 
the  lower  house  to  the  upper,"  and  he  changed  his  hand 
from  the  region  of  his  waistcoat  to  his  head  as  he  spoke, 
“is  most  influential." 

“True,  doctor/'  said  Eeddy,  with  a smile;  “and  sup- 
pose we  go  to  supper  now." 

“Wait  a moment,**  said  Growling,  holding  his  button. 
“ Did  you  ever  try  your  hand  at  an  epic?** 

“ No,  I can*t  say  that  I did." 

“ I wish  you  would." 

“ You  flatter  me,  doctor;  but  don*t  you  think  we  had 
better  go  to  supper?" 

“Ha!"  said  the  doctor,  “your  own  House  of  Commons 
is  sending  up  an  appeal— eh?** 

“ Decidedly,  doctor." 

“ Then  you  see,  my  dear  friend,  you  can*t  wonder  at 
those  poor  inferior  beings  hurrying  ofi  to  indulge  their  gross 
appetites,  when  a man  of  genius  like  you  is  not  insensible 


254 


HAKDY  AKDY. 


to  the  same  call.  Never  wonder  again  at  people  leaving 
your  song  for  supper.  Master  James,”  said  the  doctor,  rest- 
ing his  arm  on  Beddy,  and  sauntering  from  the  room. 
“ Never  wonder  again  at  the  triumph  of  supper  over  song, 
for  the  Swan  of  Avon  himself  would  have  no  chance 
against  roast  ducks. ” 

Beddy  smacked  his  lips  at  the  word  ducks,  and  the  sa- 
vory odor  of  the  supper-room  which  they  approached 
heightened  his  anticipation  of  an  onslaught  on  one  of  the 
aforesaid  tempting  birds;  but,  ah!  when  he  entered  the 
room,  skeletons  of  ducks  there  were,  but  nothing  more. 
The  work  of  demolition  had  been  in  able  hands,  and  the 
doctor’s  lachrymose  exclamation  of  “the  devil  a duck!” 
found  a hollow  echo  under  Beddy’s  waistcoat.  Bound  the 
room  that  deluded  minstrel  went,  seeking  what  he  might 
devour,  but  his  voyage  of  discovery  for  any  hot  fowl  was 
profitless;  and  Growling,  in  silent  delight,  witnessed  his 
ointment. 


Dine,  sir,”  said  the  doctor,  “there’s  plenty  of  punch 
left,  however;  I’ll  take  a glass  with  you,  and  drink  success 
to  your  next  song,  for  the  last  is  all  I could  wish ;”  and  so, 
indeed  it  was,  for  if  enabled  him  to  laugh  at  the  poetaster, 
and  cheat  him  out  of  his  supper. 

“ Ho,  ho!”  said  Murtough  Murphy,  who  approached  the 
door;  “you  have  found  out  the  punch  is  good,  eh?  Faith 
it  is  that  same,  and  I’ll  take  another  glass  of  it  with  you 
before  I go,  for  the  night  is  cold.” 

“ Are  you  going  so  soon?”  asked  Growling,  as  he  clinked 
his  glass  against  the  attorney’s. 

“ Whisht!”  said  Murphy,  “ not  a word — I’m  slipping  away 
after  Dick  the  Divil;  we  have  a trifle  of  work  in  hand  quite 
in  his  line,  and  it  is  time  to  set  about  it.  Good-bye,  you’ll 
hear  more  of  it  to-morrow — snug’s  the  word.” 

Murphy  stole  away,  for  the  open  departure  of  so  merry 
a blade  would  not  have  been  permitted,  and  in  the  hall  he 
found  Dick  mounting  a large  top-coat  and  muffling  up. 

“Good  people  are  scarce,  you  think,  Dick,”  said 
Murphy. 

“ I’d  recommend  you  to  follow  the  example,  for  the  night 
is  bitter  cold,  I can  tell  you.” 

“ And  as  dark  as  a coal-hole,”  said  Murphy,  as  he  opened 
the  door  and  looked  out. 

“ No  matter,  I have  got  a dark  lantern/’  said  Dick* 


HANDY  ANDY. 


255 


which  we  can  use  when  required;  make  haste,  the  gig  is 
round  the  corner,  and  the  little  black  mare  will  roll  us  over 
in  no  time.” 

They  left  the  house  quietly,  as  he  spoke,  and  started  on 
a bit  of  mischief  which  demands  a separate  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  night  was  pitch  dark,  and  on  rounding  the  adjacent 
corner  no  vehicle  could  be  seen;  but  a peculiar  whistle 
from  Dick  was  answered  by  the  sound  of  approaching 
wheels  and  the  rapid  footfalls  of  a horse,  mingled  with  the 
light  rattle  of  a smart  gig.  On  the  yehicle  coming  up, 
Dick  took  his  little  mare,  that  was  blacker  than  the  night, 
by  the  head,  the  apron  of  the  gig  was  thrown  down,  and 
out  jumped  a smart  servant-boy. 

“ You  have  the  horse  ready,  too,  Billy?”  ^ 

“ Yis,  sir,”  said  Billy,  touching  his  hat. 

“ Then  follow,  and  keep  up  with  me,  remember.” 

“ Yis,  sir.” 

“ Come  to  her  head,  here,”  and  he  patted  the  little 
mare’s  neck  as  he  spoke  with  a caressing  “ whoa,”  which 
was  answered  by  a low  neigh  of  satisfaction,  while  the  im 
patient  pawing  of  her  fore-foot  showed  the  animal’s  desire 
to  start.  “ What  an  impatient  little  devil  she  is,”  said 
Dick,  as  he  mounted  the  gig;  “ I’ll  get  in  first,  Murphy, 
as  I’m  going  to  drive.  Now  up  with  you — hook  on  the 
apron — that’s  it — are  you  all  right!” 

“ Quite,”  said  Murphy. 

“ Then  you  be  into  your  saddle  and  after  us,  Billy,” 
said  Dick;  “ and  now  let  her  go.” 

Billy  gave  the  little  black  mare  her  head,  and  away  she 
went,  at  a slapping  pace,  the  fire  from  the  road  answering 
the  rapid  strokes  of  her  nimble  feet.  The  servant  then 
mounted  a horse  which  was  tied  to  a neighboring  palisade, 
and  had  to  gallop  for  it  to  come  up  with  his  master,  who 
was  driving  with  a swiftness  almost  fearful,  considering 
the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  narrowness  of  the  road 
he  had  to  traverse,  for  he  was  making  the  best  of  his  course 
by  cross-ways  to  an  adjacent  roadside  inn,  where  some  non- 
resident electors  were  expected  to  arrive  that  night  by  a 
coach  from  Dublin;  for  the  county  town  had  every  nook 


256 


HANDY  ANDY. 


and  cranny  occupied,  and  this  inn  was  the  nearest  point 
where  they  could  get  any  accommodation. 

Now  don’t  suppose  that  they  were  electors  whom  Murphy 
and  Dick  in  their  zeal  for  their  party  were  going  over  to 
greet  with  hearty  welcomes  and  bring  up  to  the  poll  the 
next  day.  By  no  means.  They  were  the  friends  of  the 
opposite  party,  and  it  was  with  the  design  of  retarding  their 
movements  that  this  night’s  excursion  was  undertaken. 
These  electors  were  a batch  of  plain  citizens  from  Dublin, 
whom  the  Scatterbrain  interest  had  induced  to  leave  the 
peace  and  quiet  of  the  city  to  tempt  the  wilds  of  the  coun- 
try at  that  wildest  of  times — during  a contested  election; 
and  a night  coach  was  freighted  inside  and  out  with  the 
worthy  cits,  whose  aggregate  voices  would  be  of  immense 
importance  the  next  day;  for  the  contest  was  close,  the 
county  nearly  polled  out,  and  but  two  days  more  for  the 
struggle.  Now,  to  intercept  these  plain  unsuspecting  men 
was  the  object  of  Murphy,  whose  well-supplied  information 
had  discovered  to  him  this  plan  of  the  enemy,  which  he  set 
about  countermining.  As  they  rattled  over  the  rough  by- 
roads, many  a laugh  did  the  merry  attorney  and  the  un- 
tameable  Dick  the  Devil  exchange,  as  the  probable  success 
of  their  scheme  was  canvassed,  and  fresh  expedients  devised 
to  meet  the  possible  impediments  which  might  interrupt 
them.  As  they  topped  a hill,  Murphy  pointed  out  to  his 
companion  a moving  light  in  the  plain  beneath. 

“ That’s  the  coach,  Dick — there  are  the  lamps,  we’re 
just  in  time — spin  down  the  hill,  my  boy — -let  me  get  in 
as  they’re  at  supper,  and  faith  they’ll  want  it,  after  com- 
ing off  a coach  such  a night  as  this,  to  say  nothing  of  some 
of  them  being  aldermen  in  expectancy  perhaps,  and  of 
course  obliged  to  play  trencher-men  as  often  as  they  can, 
as  a requisite  rehearsal  for  the  parts  they  must  hereafter 
fill.” 

In  fifteen  minutes  more  Dick  pulled  up  before  a small . 
cabin  within  a quarter  of  a mile  of  the  inn,  and  the  mount 
ed  servant  tapped  at  the  door,  which  was  immediately 
opened,  and  a peasant,  advancing  to  the  gig,  returned  the 
civil  salutation  with  which  Dick  greeted  his  approach. 

“ I wanted  to  be  sure  you  were  ready,  Barnyo” 

“ Oh,  do  you  think  I’d  fail  you,  Misther  Dick,  yom 
honor?” 

M I thought  you  might  be  asleep,  Barny.” 


HANDY  ANDY. 


257 


“ Not  when  you  bid  me  wake,  sir;  and  there’s  a nice  fire 
ready  for  you,  and  as  fine  a dhrop  o’  potteen  as  ever  tickled 
your  tongue,  sir.” 

“ You’re  the  lad,  Barny!  good  fellow — I’ll  be  back  with 
you  by  and  by;”  and  off  whipped  Dick  again. 

After  going  about  a quarter  of  a mile  further,  he  pulled 
up,  alighted  with  Murphy  from  the  gig,  unharnessed  the 
little  black  mare,  and  then  overturned  the  gig  into  the 
ditch. 

“ That’s  as  natural  as  life,”  said  Dick. 

“ What  an  escape  of  my  neck  I’ve  had!”  said  Murphy. 

“ Are  you  much  hurt?”  said  Dick. 

“ A trifle  lame  only,”  said  Murphy,  laughing  and  limp- 
ing. 

“ There  was  a great  hoccagh*  lost  in  you,  Murphy. 
Wait;  let  me  rub  a handful  of  mud  on  your  face — there — 
you  have  a very  upset  look,  ’pon  my  soul,  ” said  Dick,  as 
he  flashed  the  light  of  his  lantern  on  him  for  a moment, 
and  laughed  at  Murphy  scooping  the  mud  out  of  his  eye, 
where  Dick  had  purposely  planted  it. 

“ Devil  take  you,  ” said  Murtough;  “ that’s  too  natural.  ” 

“ There’s  nothing  like  looking  your  part,”  said  Dick. 

“ Well,  I may  as  well  complete  my  attire,”  said  Mur- 
tough, so  he  lay  down  in  the  road  and  took  a roll  in  the 
mud;  “ that  will  do,”  said  he;  “ and  now,  Dick,  go  back 
to  Barny  and  the  mountain  dew,  while  I storm  the  camp 
of  the  Philistines.  I think  in  a couple  of  hours  you  may 
be  on  the  look-out  for  me;  I’ll  signal  you  from  the  window, 
so  now  good-by;”  and  Murphy,  leading  the  mare,  proceed- 
ed to  the  inn,  while  Dick,  with  a parting  “ Luck  to  you, 
my  boy,”  turned  back  to  the  cottage  of  Barny. 

The  coach  had  set  down  six  inside  and  ten  outside  pas- 
sengers (all  voters)  about  ten  minutes  before  Murphy 
marched  up  to  the  inn  door,  leading  the  black  mare,  and 
calling  “ ostler  ” most  lustily.  His  call  being  answered 
for  6 6 the  beast,”  “ the  man  ” next  demanded  attention; 
and  the  landlord  wondered  all  the  wonders  he  could  cram 
into  a short  speech,  at  seeing  Mister  Murphy,  sure,  at  such 
a time;  and  the  sonsy  landlady,  too,  was  all  lamentations 
for  his  illigant  coat  and  his  poor  eye,  sure,  all  ruined  with 
the  mud;  and  what  was  it  at  all?  an  upset,  was  it?  oh. 


* Lame  beggar. 


258 


HANDY  ANDY. 


wirra!  and  wasn't  it  lucky  he  wasn't  killed,  and  they  with- 
out a spare  bed  to  lay  him  out  dacent  it  he  was- — sure, 
wouldn't  it  be  horrid  for  his  body  to  be  only  on  sthraw  in 
the  bam,  instead  of  the  best  feather-bed  in  the  house;  and, 
indeed,  he'd  be  welcome  to  it,  only  the  gintlemen  from 
town  had  them  all  engaged. 

“ Well,  dead  or  alive,  I must  stay  here  to-night,  Mrs. 
Kelly,  at  all  events." 

“ And  what  will  you  do  for  a bed?" 

“ A shake  down  in  the  parlor,  or  a stretch  on  a sofa, 
will  do;  my  gig  is  stuck  fast  in  a ditch — my  mare  tired — - 
ten  miles  from  home — cold  night,  and  my  knee  hurt. " 
Murphy  limped  as  he  spoke. 

“ Oh!  your  poor  knee,"  said  Mrs.  Kelly;  “ I'll  put  a 
dhrop  o'  whisky  and  brown  paper  on  it,  sure — " 

“ And  what  gentlemen  are  these,  Mrs.  Kelly,  who  have 
so  filled  your  house?" 

“ Gintlemen  that  came  by  the  coach  a while  agone,  and 
supping  in  the  parlor  now,  sure." 

“ Would  you  give  my  compliments,  and  ask  would  they 
allow  me,  under  the  present  peculiar  circumstances,  to  jom 
them?  and  in  the  meantime,  send  somebody  down  the  road 
to  take  the  cushions  out  of  my  gig;  for  there  is  no  use  in 
attempting  to  get  the  gig  out  till  morning." 

“ Sartinly,  Misther  Murphy,  we'll  send  for  the  cushions 
but  as  for  the  gentlemen,  they  are  all  on  the  other  side." 

“ What  other  side?" 

“ The  Honorable's  voters,  sure." 

“ Pooh!  is  that  all?"  said  Murphy — “ I don't  mind 
that.  I've  no  objection  on  that  account;  besides,  they  need, 
not  know  who  I am,"  and  he  gave  the  landlord  a knowing; 
wink,  to  which  the  landlord  as  knowingly  returned  another. 

The  message  to  the  gentlemen  was  delivered,  and  Mur- 
phy was  immediately  requested  to  join  their  party;  this 
was  all  he  wanted,  and  he  played  off  his  powers  of  diversion 
on  the  innocent  citizens  so  successfully,  that  before  suppei 
was  half  over  they  thought  themselves  in  luck  to  have  fallen 
in  with  such  a chance  acquaintance.  Murphy  fired  awaj 
jokes,  repartees,  anecdotes,  and  country  gossip,  to  theii 
delight;  and  when  the  eatables  were  disposed  of,  he  started 
them  on  the  punch-drinking  tack  afterward  so  cleverly, 
that  he  hoped  to  see  three  parts  of  them  tipsy  before  they 
retired  to  rest. 


HANDY  ANDY.  259 

ic  Do  yon  feel  yonr  knee  better  now,  sir?”  asked  one  of 
the  party,  of  Murphy. 

“ Considerably,  thank  you;  whisky  punch,  sir,  is  about 
the  best  cure  for  bruises  or  dislocations  a man  can  take.” 

“I  doubt  that,  sir,”  said  a little  matter-of-fact  man, 
who  had  now  interposed  his  reasonable  doubts  for  the 
twentieth  time  during  Murphy’s  various  extravagant 
declarations,  and  the  interruption  only  made  Murphy 
romance  the  more. 

“ You  speak  of  your  fiery  Dullin  stuff,  sir;  but  our 
country  whisky  is  as  mild  as  milk,  and  far  more  whole- 
some; then,  sir,  our  fine  air  alone  would  cure  half  the  com- 
plaints without  a grain  of  physic.  ” 

“ I doubt  that,  sir!”  said  the  little  man. 

“ I assure  you,  sir,  a friend  of  my  own  from  town  came 
down  here  last  spring  on  crutches,  and  from  merely  follow- 
ing a light  whisky  diet  and  sleeping  with  his  window  open, 
he  was  able  to  dance  at  the  race  ball  in  a fortnight;  as  for 
this  knee  of  mine,  it’s  a trifle,  though  it  was  a bad  upset 
too.  ” 

“ How  did  it  happen,  sir?  Was  it  your  horse — or  your 
harness — or  your  gig — or — ” 

“ None  o'  them,  sir;  it  was  a Banshee.” 

“ A Banshee!”  said  the  little  man;  “ what’s  that?” 

“ A peculiar  sort  of  supernatural  creature  that  is  com- 
mon here,  sir.  She  was  squatted  down  on  one  side  of  the 
road,  and  my  mare  shied  at  her,  and  being  a spirited  little 
thing,  she  attempted  to  jump  the  ditch,  and  missed  it  in 
the  dark.  ” 

“ Jump  a ditch,  with  a gig  after  her,  sir?”  said  the  lit- 
tle man. 

“ Oh,  common  enough  to  do  that  here,  sir;  she’d  have 
done  it  easy  in  the  daylight,  but  she  could  not  measure  her 
distance  in  the  dark,  and  bang  she  went  into  the  ditch: 
but  it’s  a trifle  after  all.  I am  generally  run  over  four  or 
five  times  a year.” 

“ And  you  alive  to  tell  it!”  said  the  little  man,  incredu- 
lously. 

“ It’s  hard  to  kill  us  here,  sir,  we  are  used  to  accidents.” 

“ Well,  the  worst  accident  I ever  heard  of,”  said  one  of 
the  citizens,  “ happened  to  a friend  of  mine,  who  went  to 
visit  a friend  of  his  on  a Sunday,  and  all  the  family  hap- 
pened to  be  at  church;  so  on  driving  into  the  yard  there 


260 


HANDY  ANDY. 


was  no  one  to  take  his  horse,  therefore  he  undertook  the 
office  of  hostler  himself;  hut  being  unused  to  the  duty,  he 
most  incautiously  took  off  the  horsed  bridle  before  unyok- 
ing him  from  his  gig,  and  the  animal,  making  a furious 
plunge  forward — my  friend  being  before  him  at  the  time — * 
the  shaft  of  the  gig  was  driven  through  his  body,  and  into 
the  coach-house  gate  behind  him,  and  stuck  so  fast  that 
the  horse  could  not  drag  it  out  after;  and  in  this  dreadful 
situation  they  remained  until  the  family  returned  from 
church,  and  saw  the  awful  occurrence.  A servant  was  dis- 
patched for  a doctor,  and  the  shaft  was  disengaged,  and 
drawn  out  of  the  man's  body — just  at  the  pit  of  the 
stomach;  he  was  laid  on  a bed,  and  every  one  thought  of 
course  he  must  die  at  once,  but  he  didn't;  and  the  doctor 
came  next  day,  and  he  wasn't  dead — did  what  he  could  for 
him — and,  to  make  a long  story  short,  sir,  the  man  recov- 
^ ered." 

“Pooh!  pooh!"  said  the  diminutive  doubter. 

“ It's  true,"  said  the  narrator. 

“ I make  no  doubt  of  it,  sir,"  said  Murphy;  “ I know  a 
more  extraordinary  case  of  recovery  myself." 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  cit;  “I  have  not 
finished  my  story  yet,  for  the  most  extraordinary  part  of 
the  story  remains  to  be  told;  my  friend,  sir,  was  a very 
sickly  man  before  the  accident  happened — a very  sickly 
man,  and  after  that  accident  he  became  a hale,  healthy 
man.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  sir?" 

“ It  does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least,  sir,"  said  Mur- 
phy; “ I can  account  for  it  readily." 

“ Well,  sir,  I never  heard  it  accounted  for,  though  I 
know  it  to  be  true;  I should  like  to  hear  how  you  account 
for  it?" 

“ Very  simple,  sir,"  said  Murphy;  “ don't  you  perceive 
the  man  discovered  a mine  of  health  by  a shaft  being  sunk 
in  the  pit  of  his  stomach?" 

Murphy's  punning  solution  of  the  cause  of  cure  was 
merrily  received  by  the  company,  whose  critical  taste  was 
not  of  that  affected  nature  which  despises  jeu  de  mots,  and 
will  not  be  satisfied  under  a jeu  d’ esprit  j the  little  doubt- 
ing man  alone  refused  to  be  pleased. 

“ I doubt  the  value  of  a pun  always,  sir.  Dr.  Johnson 
said,  sir — " 

“I  know,"  said  Murphy,  “ that  the  man  who  would 


HAHDY  ANDY. 


261 


make  a pun  would  pick  a pocket;  that*s  old,  sir,  but  is 
dearly  remembered  by  all  those  who  can  not  make  puns 
themselves. " 

“ Exactly,”  said  one  of  the  party  they  called  Wiggins. 
“ It  is  the  old  story  of  the  fox  and  the  grapes.  Did  you 
ever  hear,  sir,  the  story  of  the  fox  and  the  grapes?  The 
fox  one  day  was — ”* 

“ Yes,  yes/*  said  Murphy,  who,  fond  of  absurdity  as  he 
was,  could  not  stand  the  fox  and  the  grapes  by  way  of 
something  new. 

4 4 They’re  sour,  said  the  fox/’ 

“ Yes/’  said  Murphy,  “ a capital  story. ” 

“ Oh,  them  fables  is  so  good!”  said  Wiggins. 

“ All  nonsense!”  said  the  diminutive  contradictor. 

“ Nonsense,  nothing  but  nonsense;  the  ridiculous  stuff 
of  birds  and  beasts  speaking!  As  if  any  one  could  believe 
such  stuff.  ” 

“ I do — firmly — for  one,”  said  Murphy. 

“ You  do?”  said  the  little  man. 

“ I do — and  do  you  know  why?” 

“ I can  not  indeed  conceive,”  said  the  little  man,  with  a 
bitter  grin. 

“ It  is,  sir,  because  I myself  know  a case  that  occurred 
in  this  very  country  of  a similar  nature.” 

“ Do  you  want  to  make  me  believe  you  knew  a fox  that 
spoke,  sir?”  said  the  manikin,  almost  rising  into  anger. 

“ Many,  sir,”  said  Murphy,  “ many.” 

“ Well!  after  that!”  said  the  little  man. 

“But  the  easel  immediately  allude  to  is  not  of  a fox, 
but  a cat,”  said  Murphy. 

“A  cat?  Oh,  yes — to  be  sure — a cat  speak,  indeed!” 
said  the  little  gentleman. 

“ It  is  a fact,  sir,”  said  Murphy;  “ and  if  the  company 
would  not  object  to  my  relating  the  story,  I will  state  the 
particulars.” 

The  proposal  was  received  with  acclamation;  and  Mur- 
phy, in  great  enjoyment  of  the  little  man^s  annoyance, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  made  all  the  preparatory  demon- 
strations of  a regular  raconteur;  but,  before  he  began,  he 
recommended  the  gentlemen  to  mix  fresh  tumblers  all 
round  that  they  might  have  nothing  to  do  but  listen  and 
drink  silently.  “ For  of  all  things  in  the  world,”  said 


262  HANDY  ANDY. 

Murtough,  “ I hate  a song  or  a story  to  be  interrupted  by 
the  rattle  of  spoons.” 

They  obeyed;  and  while  they  are  mixing  their  punch, 
we  will  just  turn  over  a fresh  page,  and  devote  a new  chapi- 
ter to  the  following 

Marvelous  Legend* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MURTOUGH  MURPHY'S  STORY  j 

BEING 

YE  MARVELOUS  LEGEND  OF  TOM  CONNOR'S  CAT. 

“ There  was  a man  in  these  parts,  sir,  you  must  know, 
called  Tom  Connor,  and  he  had  a cat  that  was  equal  to 
any  dozen  of  rat-traps,  and  he  was  proud  of  the  baste,  and 
with  rayson;  for  she  was  worth  her  weight  in  goold  to  him 
in  saving  his  sacks  of  meal  from  the  thievery  of  the  rats 
and  mice;  for  Tom  was  an  extensive  dealer  in  corn  and 
influenced  the  rise  and  fall  of  that  article  in  the  market, 
to  the  extent  of  a full  dozen  of  sacks  at  a time,  which  he 
either  kept  or  sold,  as  the  spirit  of  free  trade  or  monopoly 
came  over  him.  Indeed,  at  one  time,  Tom,  had  serious 
thoughts  of  applying  to  the  government  fora  military  force 
to  protect  his  granary  when  there  was  a threatened  famine 
in  the  country.  ” 

“Pooh!  pooh!  sir,”  said  the  matter-of-fact  little  man; 
“ as  if  a dozen  sacks  could  be  of  the  smallest  consequence 
in  a whole  county — pooh!  pooh!” 

“ Well,  sir,”  said  Murphy,  “ I can't  help  if  you  don't 
believe;  but  it's  truth  what  I am  telling  you,  and  pray  don't 
interrupt  me,  though  you  may  not  believe;  by  the  time  the 
story's  done  you'll  have  heard  more  wonderful  things  than 
that — and  besides,  remember  you're  a stranger  in  these 
parts,  and  have  no  notion  of  the  extraordinary  things, 
physical,  metaphysical,  and  magical,  which  constitute  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  rural  destiny.” 

The  little  man  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  Murphy's 
last  sentence — nor  Murphy  either;  but,  having  stopped  the 
little  man's  throat  with  big  words,  he  proceeded: 


HANDY  ANDY. 


563 

“ This  cat,  sir,  you  must  know,  was  a great  pet,  and 
was  so  up  to  everything,  that  Tom  swore  she  was  a' most 
like  a Christian,  only  she  couldn't  speak,  and  had  so  sensi- 
ble a look  in  her  eyes,  that  he  was  sartin  sure  the  cat  knew 
every  word  that  was  said  to  her.  Well,  she  used  to  sit  by 
him  at  breakfast  every  morning,  and  the  eloquent  cock 
of  her  tail,  as  she  used  to  rub  against  his  leg,  said,  ‘ Give 
me  some  milk,  Tom  Connor/  as  plain  as  print,  and  the 

idenitude  of  her  purr  afterward  spoke  a gratitude  beyond 
anguage.  Well,  one  morning,  Tom  was  going  to  the 
neighboring  town  to  market,  and  he  'had  promised  the 
wife  to  bring  home  shoes  to  the  chi  Id  re'  out  o'  the  price  of 
the  corn;  and  sure  enough,  before  she  sat  down  to  break- 
fast, there  was  Tom  taking  the  measure  of  the  children's 
feet,  by  cutting  notches  on  a bit  of  stick;  and  the  wife 
gave  him  so  many  cautions  about  getting  a ‘ nate  fit ' for 
4 Billy's  purty  feet,'  that  Tom,  in  his  anxiety  to  nick  the 
closest  possible  measure,  cut  off  the  child's  toe.  That  dis- 
turbed the  harmony  of  the  party,  and  Tom  was  obliged  to 
breakfast  alone,  while  the  mother  was  endeavoring  to  cure 
Billy;  in  short,  trying  to  make  a heal  of  his  toe.  Well, 
sir,  all  the  time  Tom  was  taking  measure  for  the  shoes, 
the  cat  was  observing  him  with  that  luminous  peculiarity 
of  eye  for  which  her  tribe  is  remarkable;  and  when  Tom 
feat  down  to  breakfast  the  cat  rubbed  up  against  him  more 
Vigorously  than  usual;  but  Tom,  being  bewildered  between 
his  expected  gain  in  com  and  the  positive  loss  of  his  child's 
toe,  kept  never  minding  her,  until  the  cat,  with  a sort  of 
caterwauling  growl,  gave  Tom  a dab  of  her  claws,  that 
Went  clean  through  his  leathers,  and  a little  further. 
‘ Wow!'  says  Tom,  with  a jump,  clapping  his  hand  on  the 
part,  and  rubbing  it,  4 by  this  and  that,  you  drew  the  blood 
out  o'  me,'  says  Tom;  6 you  wicked  divil — tish! — go  along!' 
says  he,  making  a kick  at  her.  With  that  the  cat  gave  a 
reproachful  look  at  him,  and  her  eyes  glared  just  like  a 
pair  of  mail-coach  lamps  in  a fog.  With  that,  sir,  the 
cat,  with  a mysterious  4 mi-ow ,'  fixed  a most  penetrating, 
glance  on  Tom,  and  distinctly  uttered  his  name. 

“ Tom  felt  every  hair  on  his  head  as  stiff  as  a pump- 
handle;  and  scarcely  crediting  his  ears,  he  returned  a 
searching  look  at  the  cat,  who  very  quietly  proceeded  in  a 
sort  of  nasal  twang: 
w “ ‘ Tom  Connor/  says  she. 


264 


HASTDY  A25DY. 


“‘The  Lord  be  good  tome!*  says  Tom,  ‘if  it  isn't 
gpakin'  she  is!' 

“ ‘ Tom  Connor/  says  she  again. 

“ ‘ Yes,  ma'am/  says  Tom. 

“ ‘ Come  here/  says  she;  ‘ whisper — I went  to  talk  to 
you,  Tom/  says  she,  ‘ the  laste  taste  in  private/  says  she 
— rising  on  her  hams,  and  beckoning  him  with  her  paw 
out  o'  the  door,  with  a wink  and  a toss  o'  the  head  aiqual 
to  a milliner. 

“ Well,  as  you  may  suppose,  Tom  didn't  know  whether 
he  was  on  his  head  or  his  heels,  but  he  followed  the  cat, 
and  off  she  went  and  squatted  herself  under  the  edge  of  a 
little  paddock  at  the  back  of  Tom's  house;  and  as  he  came 
round  the  corner,  she  held  up  her  paw  again,  and  laid  it 
on  her  mouth,  as  much  as  to  say,  ‘ Be  cautious,  Tom.' 
Well,  divil  a word  Tom  could  say  at  all,  with  the  fright, 
so  up  he  goes  to  the  cat,  and  says  she: 

“ 6 Tom,'  says  she,  6 1 have  a great  respect  for  you,  and 
there's  something  I must  tell  you,  because  you're  losing 
character  with  your  neighbors/  says  she,  ‘ by  your  goin’s 
on/  says  she,  6 and  it's  out  o'  the  respect  that  I have  for 
you,  that  I must  tell  you/  says  she. 

“ ‘ Thank  you,  ma'am/  says  Tom. 

“ ‘ You're  goin'  off  to  the  town/  says  she,  € to  buy  shoes 
for  the  childre'/  says  she,  ‘ and  never  thought  o'  gettin' 
me  a pair. ' 

“ ‘ You!'  says  Tom. 

“ ‘ Yis,  me,  Tom  Connor/  says  she;  ‘ and  the  neigh- 
bors wondhers  that  a respectable  man  like  you  allows  your 
cat  to  go  about  the  counthry  barefutted/  says  she. 

“ ‘ Is  it  a cat  to  ware  shoes?'  says  Tom. 

c‘  ‘ Why  not?'  says  she;  ‘ doesn't  horses  ware  shoes? — 
and  I have  a prettier  foot  than  a horse,  I hope, ' says  she, 
with  a toss  of  her  head. 

“ ‘ Faix,  she  spakes  like  a woman;  so  proud  of  her  feet/ 
says  Tom  to  himself,  astonished,  as  you  may  suppose,  but 
pretending  never  to  think  it  remarkable  all  the  time;  and 
so  he  went  on  discoursin' ; and  says  he,  ‘ It's  thrue  for 
you,  ma'am/  says  he,  ‘ that  horses  wares  shoes — but  that 
stands  to  rayson,  ma'am,  you  see — seeing  the  hardship 
their  feet  has  to  go  through  on  the  hard  roads/ 

“ ‘ And  how  do  you  know  what  hardship  my  feet  has  to 
go  through?'  says  the  cat,  mighty  sharp. 


HAKDY  AtfDY.  265 

tc  c But,  ma’am/  says  Tom,  6 1 don’t  well  see  how  you 
could  fasten  a shoe  on  you/  says  he. 

“ ‘ Lave  that  to  me/  says  the  cat. 

‘ 6 6 Did  any  one  ever  stick  walnut  shells  on  you,  pussy?’ 
says  Tom,  with  a grin. 

“ 6 Don’t  be  disrespectful,  Tom  Connor/  says  the  cat, 
with  a frown. 

“‘I  ax  your  pard’n,  ma’am,’  says  he,  ‘ but  as  for  the 
horses  you  wor  spakin’  about  wearin’  shoes,  you  know  their 
shoes  is  fastened  on  with  nails,  and  how  would  your  shoes 
be  fastened  on?’ 

“‘Ah,  you  stupid  thief!’  says  she,  ‘ haven’t  I illigant 
nails  o’  my  own?’  and  with  that  she  gave  him  a dab  of  her 
claw,  that  made  him  roar. 

“ ‘ Ow!  murdher!’  says  he. 

“ c Now,  no  more  of  your  palaver,  Misther  Connor,’  says 
the  cat;  ‘ just  be  off  and  get  me  the  shoes.’ 

“ 6 Tare  an  ouns!’  says  Tom,  ‘ what’ll  become  o’  me  if 
I’m  to  get  shoes  for  my  cats?’  says  he,  ‘ for  you  increase 
your  family  four  times  a year,  and  you  have  six  or  seven 
every  time,’  says  he;  ‘ and  then  you  must  all  have  two  pair 
apiece — wirra!  wirra!— IT!  be  ruined  in  shoe-leather/  says 
Tom. 

“ ‘ No  more  o’  your  stuff,’  says  the  cat;  c don’t  be  stand- 
in’  here  undher  the  hedge  talkin’,  or  we’ll  lose  our  karac- 
thers — for  I’ve  remarked  your  wife  is  jealous.  Torn.’ 

“ ‘ Pon  my  sowl,  that’s  thrue/  says  Tom,  with  a smirk. 

“ ‘ More  fool  she/  says  the  cat, 6 for,  ’pon  my  conscience, 
Tom,  you’re  as  ugly  as  if  you  wor  bespoke.’ 

“ Off  ran  the  cat  with  these  words,  leaving  Tom,  in 
amazement.  He  said  nothing  to  the  family,  for  fear  of 
fright’ning  them,  and  off  he  went  to  the  town , as  he  pre- 
tended— for  he  saw  the  cat  watching  him  through  a hole  in 
the  hedge;  but  when  he  came  to  a turn  at  the  end  of  the 
road,  the  dickings  a mind  he  minded  the  market,  good  or 
bad,  but  wen&  off  to  Squire  Botherum’s,  the  magisthrit,  to 
sware  examinations  agen  the  cat.” 

“ Pooh!  pooh!— nonsense!”  broke  in  the  little  man,  who 
had  listened  thus  far  to  Murtough  with  an  expression  of 
mingled  wonder  and  contempt,  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
willingly  gave  up  the  reins  to  nonsense,  and  enjoyed  Mur- 
tough's  Legend  and  their  companion’s  more  absurd  com* 
mon  sense. 


m 


HANDY  ANDlf. 


“ Don't  interrupt  him,  Goggins/'  said  Mister  Wiggins. 

“ How  can  you  listen  to  such  nonsense?”  returned  Gog^ 
gins.  “ Swear  examinations  against  a cat,  indeed!  pooh! 
pooh!” 

“ My  dear  sir/3  said  Mur  tough,  “ remember  this  is  a 
fair  story,  and  that  the  country  all  around  here  is  full  of 
enchantment.  As  I was  telling  you,  Tom  went  off  to  swear 
examinations. 3 3 

“ Ay,  ay!”  shouted  all  but  Goggins;  u go  on  with  tho 
story.” 

And  when  Tom  was  asked  to  relate  the  events  of  the 
morning,  which  brought  him  before  Squire  Botherum,  his 
brain  was  so  bewildered  between  his  corn,  and  his  cat,  and 
his  child's  toe,  that  he  made  a very  confused  account  of  it. 

“ 4 Begin  your  story  from  the  beginning/  said  the  mag- 
istrate to  Tom. 

“ ‘ Well,  your  honor/  says  Tom,  f I was  goin'  to  mar- 
ket this  mornin',  to  sell  the  child's  corn — I beg  your  par- 
d'n — my  own  toes,  I mane,  sir.' 

“ ‘ Sell  your  toes!'  said  the  Squire. 

u ‘ No,  sir,  takin'  the  cat  to  market,  I mane — ' 

“ ‘ Take  a cat  to  market!'  said  the  Squire.  ‘ You're 
drunk,  man. ' 

“ 6 No,  your  honor,  only  confused  a little;  for  when  the 
toes  began  to  spake  to  me — the  cat,  I mane — I was  both- 
ered clane — ' 

“ ‘ The  cat  speak  to  you!'  said  the  Squire.  c Phew! 
worse  than  before — you're  drunk,  Tom.' 

“ ‘ No,  your  honor;  it's  on  the  strength  of  the  cat  I 
-come  to  spake  to  you — ' 

“ ‘ I think  it's  on  the  strength  of  a pint  of  whisky, 
Tom — ' 

“ 6 By  the  vartue  o'  my  oath,  your  honor,  it's  nothin' 
but  the  cat.'  And  so  Tom  then  told  him  all  about  the 
affair,  and  the  Squire  was  regularly  astonished.  J ust  then 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese  and  the  priest  of  the  parish  hap- 
pened to  call  in,  and  heard  the  story;  and  the  bishop  and 
the  priest  had  a tough  argument  for  two  hours  on  the  sub- 
ject; the  former  swearing  she  must  be  a witch;  but  the 
priest  denying  that?  and  maintaining  she  was  only  enchant- 
ed; and  that  part  of  the  argument  was  afterward  referred 
to  the  primate,  and  subsequently  to  the  conclave  at  Rome; 


HANDY  ANDY.  56? 

but  the  Pope  declined  interfering  about  cats,  saying  he  had 
quite  enough  to  do  minding  his  own  bulls. 

44  4 In  the  meantime,  what  are  we  to  do  with  the  cat?* 
says  Botherum. 

44  4 Burn  her/  says  the  bishop,  4 she's  a witch.  * 

44  4 Only  enchanted/  said  the  priest — 4 and  the  ecclesias- 
tical court  maintains  that — * 

44  4 Bother  the  ecclesiastical  court !'  said  the  magistrate; 
5 1 can  only  proceed  on  the  statutes/  and  with  that  he 
pulled  down  all  the  law-books  in  his  library,  and  hunted 
the  laws  from  Queen  Elizabeth  down,  and  he  found  that 
they  made  laws  against  everything  in  Ireland,  except  a cat . 
The  devil  a thing  escaped  them  but  a cat,  which  did  not 
come  within  the  meaning  of  any  act  of  parliament — the 
cats  only  had  escaped . 

44  6 There's  the  alien  act,  to  be  sure/  said  the  magis- 
trate, 6 and  perhaps  she's  a French  spy,  in  disguise.' 

44  6 She  spakes  like  a French  spy,  sure  enough/  says 
Tom;  4 and  she  was  missin',  I remember,  all  last  Spy- 
Wednesday.' 

44  4 That's  suspicious/  says  the  Squire — 4 but  conviction 
might  be  difficult;  and  I have  a fresh  idea/  says  Botherum. 

66  6 Faith,  it  won't  keep  fresh  long,  this  hot  weather/ 
says  Tom ; 4 so  your  honor  had  better  make  use  of  it  at 
wanst.' 

44  4 Eight/  says  Botherum — we'll  make  her  subject  to 
the  game  laws;  we'll  hunt  her/  says  he. 

44  6 Ow! — elegant!'  says  Tom — 4 we'll  have  a brave  run 
out  of  her. ' 

44  4 Meet  me  at  the  cross-roads/  says  the  Squire,  4 in  the 
morning,  and  I'll  have  the  hounds  ready.' 

44  Well,  off  Tom  went  home;  and  he  was  racking  his 
brain  what  excuse  he  could  make  to  the  cat  for  not  bring- 
ing the  shoes*  and  at  last  he  hit  one  off,  just  as  he  saw  her 
cantering  up  to  him,  half  a mile  before  he  got  home. 

44  4 Where's  the  shoes,  Tom?'  says  she. 

44  4 I have  not  got  them  to-day,  ma'am/  says  he. 

44  4 Is  that  the  way  you  keep  your  promise,  Tom?'  says 
she — 4 I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Tom — I'll  tare  the  eyes  out 
o'  the  childre  if  you  don't  get  me  shoes.' 

4 4 4 Whisht!  whisht!'  says  Tom,  frightened  out  of  his  life 
for  his  children's  eyes.  4 Don't  be  in  a passion,  pussy. 
The  shoemaker  said  he  had  not  a shoe  in  his  shop,  nor  a 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


last  that  would  make  one  to  fit  you;  and  he  says,  I must 
bring  you  into  the  town  for  him  to  take  your  measure/ 

“ 4 And  when  am  I to  go?*  says  the  cat,  looking  savage. 

“ ‘ To-morrow/  says  Tom. 

“ * Xt*s  well  you  said  that,  Tom/  said  the  cat,  ‘ or  the 
devil  an  eye  I*d  leave  in  your  family  this  night  * — and  oil 
she  hopped. 

“ Tom  thrimbled  at  the  wicked  look  she  gave. 

“ ‘ Remember!*  says  she,  over  the  hedge,  with  a bitter 
caterwaul. 

“ 6 Never  fear/  says  Tom. 

“ Well,  sure  enough,  the  next  mornin*  there  was  the  cat 
at  cock-crow,  licking  herself  as  nate  as  a new  pin,  to  go 
into  the  town,  and  out  came  Tom  with  a bag  undher  his 
arm,  and  the  cat  afther  him. 

“ ‘ Now  git  into  this,  and  Fll  carry  you  into  the  town/ 
Bays  Tom,  opening  the  bag. 

“ ‘ Sure  I can  walk  with  you/  says  the  cat. 

ct  c Oh,  that  wouldn*t  do/  says  Tom;  ‘ the  people  in  the 
town  is  curious  and  slandherous  people,  and  sure  it  would 
rise  ugly  remarks  if  I was  seen  with  a cat  afther  me — a 
dog  is  a man*s  companion  by  nature,  but  cats  does  not 
stand  to  rayson.  * 

“ Well,  the  cat,  seeing  there  was  no  use  in  argument, 
got  into  the  bag,  and  off  Tom  set  to  the  cross-roads  with 
the  bag  over  his  shoulder,  and  he  came  up,  quite  innocent - 
like,  to  the  corner,  where  the  Squire,  and  his  huntsman, 
and  the  hounds,  and  a pack  o*  people  were  waitin*.  Out 
came  the  Squire  on  a sudden,  just  as  if  it  was  all  by  acci- 
dent. 

“ ‘ God  save  you,  Tom/  says  he. 

“ c God  save  you  kindly,  sir/  says  Tom. 

“ ‘ What*s  that  bag  you  have  at  your  back?*  says  the 
Squire. 

“ ‘ Oh,  nothin*  at  all,  sir/  says  Tom — makin*  a face  all 
the  time,  as  much  as  to  say,  I have  her  safe. 

“ 6 Oh,  there*s  something  in  that  bag,  I think/  says  the 
Squire;  ‘ and  you  must  let  me  see  it.* 

“ ‘ If  you  bethray  me,  Tom  Connor/  says  the  cat  in  a 
low  voice,  ‘ by  this  and  that  I'll  never  spake  to  you  again!* 

“ ‘ *Pon  my  honor,  sir/  said  Tom,  with  a wink  and  a 
twitch  of  his  thumb  toward  the  bag,  6 1 haven*t  anything 
in  it/ 


HANDY  ANDY. 


269 


“ * I have  been  missing  my  praties  of  late/  says  the 
squire;  * and  Fd  just  like  to  examine  that  bag/  says  he. 

“ 4 Is  it  doubting  my  charackther  you*d  be,  sir?*  says 
Tom,  pretending  to  be  in  a passion. 

“ 4 Tom,  your  sowl!*  says  the  voice  in  the  sack,  6 if  you 
let  the  cat  out  of  the  lag,  1*11  murther  you.* 

44  4 An  honest  man  would  make  no  objection  to  be 
sarched/  said  the  Squire;  6 and  I insist  on  it,*  says  he, 
laying  hold  o*  the  bag,  and  Tom  purtending  to  fight  all 
the  time;  but,  my  jewel!  before  two  minutes,  they  shook 
the  cat  out  o*  the  bag,  sure  enough,  and  off  she  went  with 
her  tail  as  big  as  a sweeping  brush,  and  the  squire,  with  a 
thundering  view-halloo  after  her,  clapped  the  dogs  at  her 
heels,  and  away  they  went  for  the  bare  life.  Never  was 
there  seen  such  running  as  that  day — the  cat  made  for  a 
shaking  bog,  the  loneliest  place  in  the  whole  country,  and 
there  the  riders  were  all  thrown  out,  barrin*  the  huntsman, 
who  had  a web-footed  horse  on  purpose  for  soft  places; 
and  the  priest,  whose  horse  could  go  anywhere  by  reason  of 
the  priest*s  blessing;  and,  sure  enough,  the  huntsman  and 
his  riverence  stuck  to  the  hunt  like  wax;  and  just  as  the 
cat  got  on  the  border  of  the  bog,  they  saw  her  give  a twist 
as  the  foremost  dog  closed  with  her,  for  he  gave  her  a nip 
in  the  flank.  Still  she  went  on,  however,  and  headed 
them  well,  toward  an  old  mud  cabin  in  the  middle  of  the 
bog,  and  there  they  saw  her  jump  in  at  the  window,  and 
up  came  the  dogs  the  next  minit,  and  gathered  round  the 
house  with  the  most  horrid  howling  ever  was  heard.  The 
huntsman  alighted,  and  went  into  the  house  to  turn  the 
cat  out  again,  when  what  should  he  see  but  an  old  hag  ly- 
ing in  bed  in  the  corner. 

44  Did  you  see  a cat  come  in  here?*  says  he. 

44  4 Oh,  no — o — o — o!*  squealed  the  old  hag,  in  a tremb- 
ling voice;  4 there*s  no  cat  here/  says  she. 

64  4 Yelp,  yelp,  yelp!*  went  the  dogs  outside. 

44  4 Oh,  keep  the  dogs  out  o*  this/  says  the  old  hag — 4 oh 
— o — o — o!*  and  the  huntsman  saw  her  eyes  glare  under 
the  blanket,  just  like  a cat*s. 

44.4  Hillo!"  says  the  huntsman,  pulling  down  the  blanket 
— and  what  should  he  see  but  the  old  hag*s  flank  all  in  a 
gore  of  blood. 

44  4 Ow,  ow!  you  old  divll— Is  it  you?  you  ould  cat!*  says 
he,  opening  the  door. 


m 


HAKDY  ANDY. 


“ In  rushed  the  dogs — up  jumped  the  old  hag,  and 
changing  into  a cat  before  their  eyes,  out  she  darted  through 
the  window  again,  and  made  another  run  for  it;  but  she 
couldn't  escape,  and  the  dogs  gobbled  her  while  you  could 
say  ‘ Jack  Kobinson. ' But  the  most  remarkable  part  of 
this  extraordinary  story,  gentlemen,  is,  that  the  pack  was 
ruined  from  that  day  out;  for  after  having  eaten  the  en- 
chanted cat,  the  devil  a thing  they  would  ever  hunt  after- 
ward hut  mice. 99 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

Murphy's  story  was  received  with  acclamation  by  all 
but  the  little  man. 

“ That  is  all  a pack  of  nonsense,”  said  he. 

“ Well,  you're  welcome  to  it,  sir,"  said  Murphy,  “ and 
if  I had  greater  nonsense  you  should  have  it;  but  seriously, 
sir,  I again  must  beg  you  to  remember  that  the  country 
all  around  here  abounds  in  enchantment;  scarcely  a night 
passes  without  some  fairy  frolic;  but,  however  you  may 
doubt  the  wonderful  fact  of  the  cat  speaking,  I wonder  you 
are  not  impressed  with  the  points  of  moral  in  which  the 
story  abounds — 99 

“ Fiddlestick!”  said  the  miniature  snarler. 

“ First,  the  little  touch  about  the  corn  monopoly  * — then 
maternal  vanity  chastised  by  the  loss  of  the  child's  toe — > 
then  Tom's  familiarity  with  his  cat,  showing  the  danger 
arising  from  a man  making  too  free  with  his  female  domes- 
tics— -the  historical  point  about  the  penal  laws — the  fatal 
results  of  letting  the  cat  out  o'  the  bag,  with  the  curious 
final  fact  in  natural  history. " 

“ It's  all  nonsense,”  said  the  little  man,  “ and  I am 
ashamed  of  myself  for  being  such  a fool  as  to  sit  a-listening 
to  such  stuff  instead  of  going  to  bed,  after  the  fatigue  of 
my  journey  and  the  necessity  of  rising  early  to-morrow,  to 
be  in  good  time  at  the  polling.'' 

“ Oh!  then  you're  going  to  the  election,  sir?”  said  Mur- 

*%• 

“ Yes,  sir — there’s  some  sense  in  that — and  you,  gentle- 

* Handy  Andy  was  written  when  the  “ vexed  question”  of  the 
? ; Corn  Laws  ” was  the  all  absorbing  subject  of  discussion. 


HANDY  ANDY.  271 

men,  remember  we  must  be  all  up  early — and  I recommend 
you  to  follow  my  example.” 

The  little  man  rang  the  bell — the  bootjack  and  slippers 
were  called  for,  and,  after  some  delay,  a very  sleepy-look- 
ing  gossoon  entered  with  a bootjack  under  his  arm,  but  no 
slippers. 

44  Didn’t  I say  slippers?”  said  the  little  man. 

“ You  did,  sir.” 

“ Where  are  they,  sir?” 

“ The  masther  says  there  isn’t  any,  if  you  plaze,  sir.” 

“ No  slippers!  and  you  call  this  an  inn?  Oh!  well, 
1 what  can’t  be  cured  must  be  endured,’  hold  me  the  boot- 
jack,  sir.” 

The  gossoon  obeyed — the  little  man  inserted  his  heel  in 
the  cleft,  but,  on  attempting  to  pull  his  foot  from  the  boot, 
he  nearly  went  heels  over  head  backward.  Murphy  caught 
him  and  put  him  on  his  legs  again.  “ Heads  up,  soldiers,” 
exclaimed  Murtough;  thought  you  were  drinking  too 
much.” 

“ Sir,  I’m  not  intoxicated!”  said  the  manikin,  snap- 
pishly. 4 6 It  is  the  fault  of  that  vile  bootjack — what  sort 
of  a thing  is  that  you  have  brought?”  added  he  in  a rage 
to  the  gossoon . 

“ It’s  the  bootjack,  sir;  only  one  o’  the  horns  is  gone, 
you  see,”  and  he  held  up  to  view  a rough  piece  of  board 
with  an  angular  slit  in  it,  but  one  of  “ the  horns,”  as  he 
called  it,  had  been  broken  olf  at  the  top,  leaving  the  article 
useless. 

“ How  dare  you  bring  such  a thing  as  that  ?”  said  the 
little  man,  in  a great  rage, 

“ Why,  sir,  you  ax’d  for  a bootjack,  sure,  and  I brought 
you  the  best  I had — and  it’s  not  my  fault  it’s  bruk,  so  it  is, 
for  it  wasn’t  me  bruk  it,  but  Biddy  batin’  the  cock.” 

“ Beating  the  cock!”  repeatel  the  little  man  in  surprise. 

Bless  me!  beat  a cock  with  a bootjack!  what  savages!” 

“ Oh,  it’s  not  the  hen  cock  I mane,  sir,”  said  the  gos- 
soon, “ but  the  beer  cock— she  was  batin’  the  cock  into  the 
barrel,  sir,  wid  the  bootjack,  sir.” 

“ That  was  decidedly  wrong,”  said  Murphy;  “ a boot- 
jack  is  better  suited  to  a heel-tap  than  a full  measure.” 

“ She  was  tapping  the  beer,  you  mean?”  said  the  little 
man. 


272 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Faix,  she  wasn't  tapping  it  at  all,  sir,  but  hittin*  it 
Yery  hard,  she  was,  and  that's  the  way  she  bruk  it." 

“ Barbarians!"  exclaimed  the  little  man;  “ using  a 
bootjack  instead  of  a hammer!" 

“ Sure  the  hammer  was  gone  to  the  priest,  sir;  bekase 
he  wanted  it  for  the  crucifixion." 

“ The  crucifixion!"  exclaimed  the  little  man,  horrified; 
“ is  it  possible  they  crucify  people?" 

“Oh  no,  sir!"  said  the  gossoon,  grinning,  “ it's  the 
picthure  I main,  sir — an  illigant  picthure  that  is  hung  up 
in  the  chapel,  and  he  wanted  a hammer  to  dhrive  the 
nails — " 

“ Oh,  a picture  of  the  crucifixion,"  said  the  little  man. 

“ Yes,  sure,  sir — the  alther-piece,  that  was  althered  for 
to  fit  to  the  place,  for  it  was  too  big  when  it  came  down 
from  Dublin,  so  they  cut  off  the  sides  where  the  sojers  was, 
bekase  it  stopt  out  the  windows,  and  wouldn't  lave  a bit  o' 
light  for  his  riverence  to  read  mass;  and  sure  the  sojers 
were  no  loss  out  o'  the  alther-piece,  and  was  hung  up  af  ther 
in  the  vesthrey,  and  serve  them  right,  the  blackguards. 
But  it  was  sore  agen  our  will  to  cut  off  the  ladies  at  the 
bottom,  that  was  cryin'  and  roarin';  but  great  good  luck, 
the  head  o'  the  Blessed  Virgin  was  presarved  in  the  corner, 
and  sure  it's  beautiful  to  see  the  tears  runnin'  down  her 
face,  just  over  the  hole  in  the  wall  for  the  holy  wather— 
which  is  remarkable. " 

The  gossoon  was  much  offended  by  the  laughter  that  fol- 
lowed his  account  of  the  altar-piece,  which  he  had  no  in- 
tention of  making  irreverential,  and  suddenly  became 
silent,  with  a muttered  “ More  shame  for  yiz;"  and  as  his 
bootjack  was  impracticable,  he  was  sent  off  with  orders  for 
the  chamber-maid  to  supply  bed  candles  immediately. 

The  party  soon  separated  for  their  various  dormitories, 
the  little  man  leaving  sundry  charges  to  call  them  early  in 
the  morning,  and  to  be  sure  to  have  hot  water  ready  for  shav- 
ing, and,  without  fail,  to  have  their  boots  polished  in  time 
and  left  at  their  room  doors;  to  all  which  injunctions  he 
severally  received  the  answer  of  “ Certainly,  sir;"  and  as 
the  bedroom  doors  were  slapped-to,  one  by  one,  the  last 
sound  of  the  retiring  party  was  the  snappish  voice  of  the 
indefatigable  little  man,  shouting,  ere  lie  shut  his  door, 
“ Early — early — don't  forget,  Mistress  Kelly — early  /" 

A shake-down  for  Murphy  in  the  parlor  was  hastily  pre- 


IIANDY  ANDY. 


373 


pared;  and  after  Mrs.  Kelly  was  assured  by  Murtough  that 
he  was  quite  comfortable,  and  perfectly  content  with  his 
accommodation,  for  which  she  made  scores  of  apologies, 
with  lamentations  it  was  not  better,  etc.,  etc.,  the  whole 
household  retired  to  rest,  and  in  about  a quarter  of  an 
hour  the  inn  was  in  perfect  silence. 

Then  Murtough  cautiously  opened  his  door,  and  after 
listening  for  some  minutes,  and  being  satisfied  he  was  the 
only  watcher  under  the  roof,  he  gently  opened  one  of  the 
parlor  windows  and  gave  the  preconcerted  signal  which  he 
and  Dick  had  agreed  upon.  Dick  was  under  the  window 
immediately,  and  after  exchanging  a few  words  with  Mur- 
tough, the  latter  withdrew,  and  taking  off  his  boots,  and 
screening  with  his  hand  the  light  of  a candle  he  carried,  he 
cautiously  ascended  the  stairs,  and  proceeded  stealthily 
along  the  corridor  of  the  dormitory,  where,  from  the  cham- 
bers on  each  side,  a concert  of  snoring  began  to  be  execut- 
ed, and  at  all  the  doors  stood  the  boots  and  shoes  of  the 
inmates  awaiting  the  aid  of  Day  and  Martin  in  the  morn- 
ing. But,  oh!  innocent  calf-skins — destined  to  a far  dif- 
ferent fate — not  Day  and  Martin,  but  Dick  the  Devil  and 
Company  are  in  wait  for  you.  Murphy  collected  as  many 
as  he  could  carry  under  his  arms  and  descended  with  them 
to  the  parlor  window,  where  they  were  transferred  to  Dick, 
who  carried  them  directly  to  the  horse-pond  which  lay  be- 
hind the  inn,  and  there  committed  them  to  the  deep. 
After  a few  journeys  up  and  down-stairs,  Murtough  had 
left  the  electors  without  a morsel  of  sole  or  upper  leather, 
and  was  satisfied  that  a considerable  delay,  if  not  a preven- 
tion of  their  appearance  at  the  poll  on  the  morrow,  would 
be  the  consequence. 

“There,  Dick,”  said  Murphy,  “is  the  last  of  them/* 
as  he  handed  the  little  man*s  shoes  out  of  the  window, 
“ and  now,  to  save  appearances,  you  must  take  mine  too— 
for  I must  be  without  boots  as  well  as  the  rest  in  the  morn- 
ing. What  fun  I shall  have  when  the  uproar  begins — 
don*t  you  envy  me,  Dick?  There,  be  olf  now:  but  hark*e, 
notwithstanding  you  take  away  my  boots,  you  need  not 
throw  them  into  the  horse-pond.  ** 

“ Faith,  an’  I will,”  said  Dick,  dragging  them  out  of 
his  hands;  “ *twould  not  be  honorable,  if  I didn*t — Pd  give 
two  pair  of  boots  for  the  fun  you*ll  have.  ** 

“ Nonsense,  Dick— Dick,  I say — my  boots!** 


274 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Honor!”  cried  Dick,  as  he  vanished  round  the  cor* 
ner. 

“ That  devil  will  keep  his  word,”  muttered  Murphy,  as 
he.  closed  the  window — “ I may  bid  good-bye  to  that  pair 
of  boots — bad  luck  to  him!”  And  yet  the  merry  attorney 
could  not  help  laughing  at  Dick  making  him  a sufferer  by 
his  own  trick. 

Dick  did  keep  his  word;  and  after,  with  particular  de- 
light, sinking  Murphy's  boots  with  the  rest,  he,  as  it  was  pre- 
concerted, returned  to  the  cottage  of  Barny,  and  with  his 
assistance  drew  the  upset  gig  from  the  ditch,  and  with  a 
uecond  set  of  harness,  provided  for  the  occasion,  yoked  the 
.servant's  horse  to  the  vehicle  and  drove  home. 

• Murphy,  meanwhile,  was  bent  on  more  mischief  at  the 
inn ; and  lest  the  loss  of  the  boots  and  shoes  might  not  be 
productive  of  sufficient  impediment  to  the  movements  of 
the  enemy,  he  determined  on  venturing  a step  further. 
The  heavy  sleeping  of  the  weary  and  tipsy  travelers  enabled 
him  to  enter  their  chambers  unobserved,  and  over  the  gar- 
ments they  had  taken  off  he  poured  the  contents  of  the 
water- jug  and  water-bottle  he  found  in  each  room,  and 
then  laying  the  empty  bottle  and  a tumbler  on  a chair  be- 
side each  sleeper's  bed,  he  made  it  appear  as  if  the  drunken 
men  had  been  dry  in  the  night,  and,  in  their  endeavors  to 
cool  their  thirst,  had  upset  the  water  over  their  own 
clothes.  The  clothes  of  the  little  man,  in  particular,  Mur- 
phy took  especial  delight  in  sousing  more  profusely  than 
Bis  neighbor's,  and  not  content  with  taking  his  shoes, 
burned  his  stockings,  and  left  the  ashes  in  the  dish  of  the 
candlestick,  with  just  as  much  unconsumed  as  would  show 
what  they  had  been.  He  then  retired  to  the  parlor,  and 
with  many  an  internal  chuckle  at  the  thought  of  the  morn- 
ing's hubbub,  threw  off  his  clothes  and  flinging  himself  on 
•the  shake-down  Mrs.  Kelly  had  provided  for  him,  was  soon 
wrapped  in  the  profoundest  slumber,  from  which  he  never 
awoke  until  the  morning  uproar  of  the  inn  aroused  him.  ’ 
He  jumped  from  his  lair  and  rushed  to  the  scene  of  action, 
to  soar  in  the  storm  of  his  own  raising;  and  to  make  it 
more  apparent  that  he  had  been  as  great  a sufferer  as  the 
rest,  he  only  threw  a quilt  over  his  shoulders  and  did  not 
draw  on  his  stockings.  In  this  plight  he  scaled  the  stairs 
and  joined  the  storming  party,  where  the  little  man  was 
leading  the  forlorn  hope,  with  his  candlestick  in  one  hand 


HANDY  ANDYo  275 

and  the  remnant  of  his  burned  stocking  between  the  finger 
and  thumb  of  the  other. 

“ Look  at  that,  sir!'*  he  cried,  as  he  held  it  up  to  the 
landlord. 

The  landlord  could  only  stare. 

“ Bless  me!”  cried  Murphy,  “how  drunk  you  must 
have  been  to  mistake  your  stocking  for  an  extinguisher!” 

“ Drunk,  sir — I wasn^t  drunk!” 

“ It  looks  very  like  it,”  said  Murphy,  who  did  not  wait 
for  an  answer,  but  bustled  off  to  another  party  who  was 
wringing  out  his  inexpressibles  at  the  door  of  his  bedroom, 
and  swearing  at  the  gossoon  that  he  must  have  his  boots. 

“ I never  seen  them,  sir,”  said  the  boy. 

“ I left  them  at  my  door/*  said  the  man. 

“ So  did  I leave  mine,”  said  Murphy,  “ and  here  I am 
barefooted — it  is  most  extraordinary.  * * 

“ Has  the  house  been  robbed?”  said  the  innocent  elector. 
“ Not  a one  o*  me  knows,  sir!”  said  the  boy;  “ but  how 
could  it  be  robbed  and  the  doors  all  fast  this  morning” 

The  landlady  now  appeared,  and  fired  at  the  word 
“ robbed!” 

“ Bobbed,  sir!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kelly;  “ no,  sir-  no 
one  was  ever  robbed  in  my  house — my  house  is  respectable 
and  responsible,  sir — a vartuous  house — none  o’  your  ranti- 
pole  places,  sir,  Fd  have  you  to  know,  but  decent  and  well 
behaved,  and  the  house  was  as  quiet  as  a lamb  all  night.” 

“ Certainly,  Mrs.  Kelly,”  said  Murphy,  “ not  a more 
respectable  house  in  Ireland — IT1  vouch  for  that.” 

“ Youhe  a gentleman,  Misther  Murphy,”  said  Mrs. 
Kelly,  who  turned  down  the  passage,  uttering  indignant 
ejaculations  in  a sort  of  snorting  manner,  while  her  words 
of  anger  were  returned  by  Murphy  with  expressions  of 
soothing  and  condolence  as  he  followed  her  down-stairs. 

The  storm  still  continued  above,  and  while  there  they 
shouted  and  swore  and  complained,  Murphy  gave  his 
notion  of  the  catastrophe  to  the  landlady  below,  inferring 
that  the  men  were  drunk  and  poured  the  water  over  their 
own  clothes.  To  repeat  this  idea  to  themselves  he  re-* 
ascended,  but  the  men  were  incredulous.  The  little  man 
he  found  buttoning  on  a pair  of  black  gaiters,  the  only 
serviceable  decency  he  had  at  his  command,  which  only 
rendered  his  denuded  state  more  ludicrous.  To  him  Mur- 
phy asserted  his  belief  that  the  whole  affair  was  enchant- 


276 


HANDY  ANDY. 


ment,  and  ventured  to  hope  the  small  individual  would 
have  more  faith  in  fairy  machinations  for  the  future;  to 
which  the  little  abortion  only  returned  his  usual  “ Pho! 
pho!  nonsense!” 

Through  all  this  scene  of  uproar,  as  Murphy  passed  to 
and  fro,  whenever  he  encountered  the  landlord,  that  worthy 
individual  threw  him  a knowing  look;  and  the  exclamation 
of  “ Oh,  Misther  Murphy — by  dad!”  given  in  a low 
chuckling  tone,  insinuated  that  the  landlord  not  only 
smoked  but  enjoyed  the  joke. 

“ You  must  lend  me  a pair  of  boots,  Kelly!”  said  Mur- 
tough. 

“ To  be  sure,  sir — ha!  ha!  ha!  but  you  are  the  quare 
man,  Misther  Murphy!” 

“ Send  down  the  road  and  get  my  gig  out  of  the  ditch.” 

“ To  be  sure,  sir.  Poor  devils!  purty  hands  they  got 
into,”  and  off  went  the  landlord,  with  a chuckle. 

The  messengers  sent  for  the  gig  returned,  declaring  there 
was  no  gig  to  be  seen  anywhere. 

Murphy  affected  great  surprise  at  the  intelligence — again 
went  among  the  bamboozled  electors,  who  were  all  obliged 
to  go  to  bed  for  want  of  clothes;  and  his  bitter  lamenta- 
tions over  the  loss  of  his  gig  almost  reconciled  them  to 
their  minor  troubles. 

To  the  fears  they  expressed  that  they  should  not  be  able 
to  reach  the  town  in  time  for  polling  that  day,  Murphy  told 
them  to  set  their  minds  at  rest,  for  they  would  be  in  time 
on  the  next. 

He  then  borrowed  a saddle  as  well  as  the  pair  of  boots 
from  the  landlord,  and  the  little  black  mare  bore  Murphy 
triumphantly  back  to  the  town,  after  he  had  securely  im- 
pounded Scatterbrain’s  voters,  who  were  anxiously  and 
hourly  expected  by  their  friends.  Still  they  came  not.  At 
last.  Handy  Andy,  who  happened  to  be  in  town  with  Scat- 
terbrain, was  dispatched  to  hurry  them,  and  his  orders 
were  not  to  come  back  without  them. 

Handy,  on  his  arrival  at  the  inn,  found  the  electors  in 
bed,  and  all  the  fires  in  the  house  employed  in  drying  their 
clothes.  The  little  man,  wrapped  in  a blanket,  was  super- 
intending the  cooking  of  his  own  before  the  kitchen  grate; 
there  hung  his  garments  on  some  cross  sticks  suspended  by 
a string,  after  the  fashion  of  a roasting-jack,  which  the 
small  gentleman  turned  before  a blazing  kirf  fire;  and  be- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


27; 

side  this  contrivance  of  his  swung  a goodly  joint  of  meat, 
which  a bouncing  kitchen-wench  came  over  to  baste  now 
and  then. 

Andy  was  answering  some  questions  of  the  inquisitive 
little  man,  when  the  kitchen-maid,  handing  the  basting- 
ladle  to  Andy,  begged  him  to  do  a good  turn  and  just  to 
baste  the  beef  for  her,  for  that  her  heart  was  broke  with 
all  she  had  to  do,  cooking  dinner  for  so  many. 

Andy,  always  ready  to  oblige,  consented,  and  plied  the 
ladle  actively  between  the  troublesome  queries  of  the  little 
man;  but  at  last,  getting  confused  with  some  very  crabbed 
questions  put  to  him , Andy  became  completely  bothered, 
and  lifting  a brimming  ladle  of  dripping,  poured  it  over 
the  little  man's  coat  instead  of  the  beef. 

A roar  from  the  proprietor  of  the  clothes  followed,  and 
he  implanted  a kick  at  such  advantage  upon  Andy,  that 
he  upset  him  into  the  dripping-pan;  and  Andy,  in  his  fall, 
endeavoring  to  support  himself,  caught  at  the  suspended 
articles  above  him,  and  the  clothes,  and  tne  beef,  and 
Andy,  all  swam  in  gravy. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

While  disaster  and  hubbub  were  rife  below,  the  electors 
upstairs  were  holding  a council  whether  it  would  not  be 
better  to  send  back  the  “ Honorable's  " messenger  to  the 
town  and  request  a supply  of  shoes,  which  they  had  no  other 
means  of  getting.  The  debate  was  of  an  odd  sort;  they 
were  all  in  their  several  beds  at  the  time,  and  roared  at 
each  other  through  their  doors,  which  were  purposely  left 
open  that  they  might  enjoy  each  other's  conversation; 
number  seven  replied  to  number  three,  and  claimed  respect 
to  his  arguments  on  the  score  of  seniority;  the  blue  room 
was  completely  controverted  by  the  yellow;  and  the  double- 
bedded  room  would,  of  course,  have  had  superior  weight  in 
the  argument,  only  that  everything  it  said  was  lost  by  the 
two  honorable  members  speaking  together.  The  French 
king  used  to  hold  a council  called  a “ bed  of  justice,"  in 
which  neither  justice  nor  a bed  had  anything  to  do,  so  that 
this  Irish  conference  better  deserved  the  title  than  any 
council  the  Bourbon  ever  assembled.  The  debate  having 
concluded,  and  the  question  being  put  and  carried,  the  usher 


273 


HANDY  ANDY, 


of  the  black  counterpane  was  desired  to  get  out  of  bed, 
and,  wrapped  in  the  robe  of  office  whence  he  derived  his 
title,  to  go  down-stairs  and  call  the  “ Honorable’s  ” mes- 
senger to  the  “ bar  of  the  house,”  and  there  order  him  a 
pint  of  porter,  for  refreshment  after  his  ride;  and  forth- 
with to  send  him  back  again  to  the  town  for  a supply  of 
shoes. 

The  house  was  unanimous  in  voting  the  supplies.  The 
usher  reached  the  kitchen  and  found  Andy  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, scraping  the  dripping  from  his  livery  with  an  old 
knife,  whose  hackled  edge  considerably  assisted  Andy’s  own 
ingenuity  in  the  tearing  of  his  coat  in  many  places,  while 
the  little  man  made  no  effort  toward  the  repair  of  his  gar- 
ment, but  held  it  up  before  him,  and  regarded  it  with  a 
piteous  look. 

To  the  usher  of  the  black  counterpane’s  question, 
whether  Andy  was  the  “ Honorable’s  messenger,”  Andy 
replied  in  the  affirmative;  but  to  the  desire  expressed,  that 
he  would  ride  back  to  the  town,  Andy  returned  a decided 
negative. 

“ Myordhers  is  not  to  go  back  without  you,”  said  Andy. 

“ But  we  have  no  shoes,”  said  the  usher;  “ and  can  not 
go  until  we  get  some.” 

“ My  ordhers  is  not  to  go  back  without  you.” 

“ But  if  we  can’t  go?” 

“ Well,  then,  I can’t  go  back,  that’s  all,”  said  Andy. 

The  usher,  the  landlord,  and  the  landlady  all  hammered 
away  at  Andy  for  a long  time,  in  vain  trying  to  convince 
him  he  ought  to  return,  as  he  was  desired;  still  Andy  stuck 
to  the  letter  of  his  orders,  and  said  he  often  got  into  trouble 
for  not  doing  exactly  what  he  was  bid,  and  that  he  was 
bid  “ not  to  go  back  without  them,  and  he  would  not — so 
he  wouldn’t— divil  a fut.” 

At  last,  however,  Andy  was  made  to  understand  the 
propriety  of  riding  back  to  the  town;  and  was  desired  to 
go  as  fast  as  his  horse  could  carry  him,  to  gallop  every  foot 
of  the  way;  but  Andy  did  no  such  thing:  he  had  received 
a good  thrashing  once  for  being  caught  galloping  his  mas- 
ter’s horse  on  the  road,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  running 
the  risk  a second  time,  because  “ the  stranger  ” told  him 
to  do  so.  “ What  does  he  know  about  it?”  said  Andy  to 
himself;  “ faith,  it’s  fair  and  aisy  I’ll  go,  and  not  disthress 
the  horse  to  plaze  any  one.”  So  he  went  back  his  ten 


HAKBt*  AKtot.  279 

miles  at  a reasonable  pace  only;  and  when  he  appeared 
without  the  electors,  a storm  burst  on  poor  Andy. 

“ There!  I knew  how  it  would  be ,”  said  he,  “ and  not 
my  fault  at  all.” 

“ Weren't  you  told  not  to  return  without  them?” 

“ But  wait  till  I tell  you  how  it  was,  sure;”  and  then 
Andy  began  an  account  of  the  condition  in  which  the 
voters  lay  at  the  inn;  but  between  the  impatience  of  those 
who  heard,  and  the  confused  manner  of  Andy's  recital,  it 
was  some  time  before  matters  were  explained ; and  then 
Andy  was  desired  to  ride  back  to  the  inn  again,  to  tell  the 
electors  shoes  should  be  forwarded  after  him  in  a post- 
chaise,  and  requesting  their  utmost  exertions  in  hastening 
over  to  the  town,  for  that  the  election  was  going  against 
them.  Andy  returned  to  the  inn;  and  this  time,  under 
orders  from  head-quarters,  galloped  in  good  earnest,  and 
brought  in  his  horse  smoking  hot,  and  indicating  lameness. 
The  day  was  wearing  apace,  and  it  was  so  late  when  the 
electors  were  enabled  to  start  that  the  polling-booths  were 
closed  before  they  could  leave  the  town;  and  in  many  of 
these  booths  the  requisite  number  of  electors  had  not  been 
polled  that  day  to  keep  them  open;  so  that  the  next  day 
nearly  all  those  outlying  electors,  about  whom  there  had. 
been  so  much  trouble  and  expense,  wouid  be  of  no  avail. 
Thus,  Murphy's  trick  was  quite  successful,  and  the  poor 
pickled  electors  were  driven  back  to  their  inn  in  dudgeon. 

Andy,  when  he  went  to  the  stable  to  saddle  his  steed,  for 
a return  to  Neck-or-nothing  Hall,  found  him  dead  lame, 
so  that  to  ride  him  better  than  twelve  miles  home  was  im- 
possible. Andy  was  obliged  to  leave  him  where  he  was, 
and  trudge  it  to  the  Hall;  for  all  the  horses  in  Kelly's  sta- 
bles were  knocked  up  with  their  day's  work. 

As  it  was  shorter  by  four  miles  across  the  country  than 
by  the  road,  Andy  pursued  the  former  course;  and  as  he 
knew  the  country  well,  the  shades  of  evening,  which  were 
now  closing  round,  did  not  deter  him  in  the  least.  Andy 
was  not  very  fresh  for  the  journey  to  be  sure,  for  he  had 
ridden  upward  of  thirty  miles  that  day,  so  the  merry,  whis- 
tle, which  is  so  constantly  heard  from  the  lively  Irish  pe- 
destrian, did  not  while  away  the  tedium  of  his  walk.  It 
Was  night  when  Andy  was  breasting  up  a low  ridge  of  hills, 
which  lay  between  him  and  the  end  of  his  journey;  and 
When  in  silence  and  darkness  he  topped  the  ascent,  he 


m 


iiahby  ahdy. 


threw  himself  on  some  heather  to  rest  and  take  breath. 
His  attention  was  suddenly  caught  by  a small  blue  flame, 
which  flickered  now  and  then  on  the  face  of  the  hill,  not 
very  far  from  him;  and  Andy's  fears  of  fairies  and  goblins 
came  crowding  upon  him  thick  and  fast.  He  wished  to 
rise,  but  could  not;  his  eye  continued  to  be  strained  with 
the  fascination  of  fear  in  the  direction  he  saw  the  fire,  and 
sought  to  pierce  the  gloom  through  which,  at  intervals,  the 
small  point  of  flame  flashed  brightly  and  sunk  again,  mak- 
ing the  darkness  seem  deeper.  Andy  lay  in  perfect  still- 
ness, and  in  the  silence,  Which  was  unbroken  even  by  his 
own  breathing,  he  thought  he  heard  voices  underground. 
He  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  for  he  was  certain  they 
were  the  voices  of  the  fairies,  whom  he  firmly  believed  to 
inhabit  the  hills. 

“ Oh!  murdher,  what'll  I do ?"  thought  Andy  to  him- 
self: “ sure  I heerd  often,  if  once  you  were  within  the  sound 
of  their  voices,  you  could  never  get  out  o'  their  power.  Oh! 
if  I could  only  say  a pather  and  ave , but  I forget  my  pray- 
ers with  the  fright.  Hail,  Mary!  The  king  o'  the  fairies 
lives  in  these  hills,  I know — and  his  house  is  undher  me 
this  minit,  and  I on  the  roof  of  it — I'll  never  get  down 
again — I'll  never  get  down  again — they'll  make  me  slater 
to  the  fairies;  and  sure  enough  I remember  me,  the  hill  is 
all  covered  with  flat  stones  they  call  fairy  slates.  Oh!  I 
am  ruined — God  be  praised!"  Here  he  blessed  himself, 
and  laid  his  head  close  to  the  earth.  “ Guardian  angels — 

I hear  their  voices  singin' a dhrinking  song Oh!  if  I 

had  a dhrop  o'  water  myself,  for  my  mouth  is  as  dhry  as  a 
lime-burner's  wig — and  I on  the  top  o'  their  house — see — 
there's  the  little  blaze  again — 1 wondher  is  their  chimbley 
afire — Oh!  murther.  I'll  die  o'  thirst — Oh!  if  I had  only 
one  dhrop  o'  wather — I wish  it  would  rain  or  hail — Hail, 
Mary,  full  o'  grace — whisht!  what's  that?"  Andy  couched 
lower  than  before,  as  he  saw  a figure  rise  from  the  earth, 
and  attain  a height  which  Andy  computed  to  be  something 
about  twenty  feet;  his  heart  shrunk  to  the  size  of  a nut- 
shell, as  he  beheld  the  monster  expand  to  his  full  dimen- 
sions; and  at  the  same  moment,  a second,  equally  large, 
emerged  from  the  ground. 

Now,  as  fairies  are  notoriously  little  people,  Andy 
changed  his  opinion  of  the  parties  into  whose  power  he  had 
fallen,  and  saw  clearly  they  were  giants,  not  fairies,  of 


HAHDY  ahd t. 


281 


whom  he  was  about  to  become  the  victim.  He  would  have 
ejaculated  a prayer  for  mercy,  had  not  terror  rendered  him 
speechless,  as  the  remembrance  of  all  the  giants  he  had 
-ever  heard  of,  from  the  days  of  Jack  and  the  Bean-stalk 
down,  came  into  his  head;  but  though  his  sense  of  speak- 
ing was  gone,  that  of  hearing  was  painfully  acute,  and  he 
heard  one  of  the  giants  say: 

“ That  pot  is  not  big  enough. " 

“ Oh!  it  howlds  as  much  as  we  want,”  replied  the  other. 

“ 0 Lord/*  thought  Andy;  “ they've  got  their  pot  ready 
for  cooking." 

“ What  keeps  him?"  said  the  first  giant. 

“ Oh!  he's  not  far  off,"  said  the  second. 

A clammy  shivering  came  over  Andy. 

“ I'm  hungry,"  said  the  first,  and  he  hiccoughed  as  he 
spoke. 

“ It's  only  a false  appetite  you  have,''  said  the  second, 
“ you're  drunk." 

This  was  a new  light  to  Andy,  for  he  thought  giants 
were  too  strong  to  get  drunk. 

“ I could  ate  a young  child,  without  parsley  and  but- 
ther,"  said  the  drunken  giant.  Andy  gave  a faint  spas- 
modic kick. 

“ And  it's  as  hot  as down  there/'  said  the  giant. 

Andy  trembled  at  the  horrid  word  he  heard. 

“No  wonder/'  said  the  second  giant;  “for  I can  sec 
the  flame  popping  out  at  the  top  of  the  chimbley;  that's 
bad:  I hope  no  one  will  see  it,  or  it  might  give  them  warn- 
ing. Bad  luck  to  that  young  divil  for  making  the  fire  so 
sthrong.  ''j 

What  a dreadful  hearing  this  was  for  Andy:  young  dev- 
ils to  make  their  fires;  there  was  no  doubt  what  place  they 
were  dwelling  in.  “ Thunder  and  turf !"  said  the  drunken 
giant;  “ I wish  I had  a slice  of — " 

Andy  did  not  hear  what  he  wished  a slice  of,  for  the 
night  wind  swept  across  the  heath  at  the  moment,  and 
carried  away  the  monster's  disgusting  words  on  its  pure 
breath. 

“Well  I'd  rather  have — " said  the  other  giant;  and 
again  Andy  Idst  what  his  atrocious  desires  were — “ than 
all  the  other  slices  in  the  world.  What  a lovely  round 
©houlder  she  has  and  the  nice  round  ankle  of  her — ' 9 


m 


fiAKDY  AKt)Y. 


The  word  “ ankle  " showed  at  once  it  was  a woman  of 
whom  he  spoke  and  Andy  shuddered.  “ The  monsters! 
to  eat  a woman. 99 

“ What  a fool  you  are  to  he  in  love/'  said  the  drunken 
giant  with  several  hiccoughs*  showing  the  increase  of  his 
inebriation. 

“ Is  that  what  the  brutes  call  love*"  thought  Andy*  “ to 
ate  a woman!" 

“ I wish  she  was  bone  of  my  bone  and  flesh  of  my  flesh*" 
said  the  second  giant. 

Of  this  speech  Andy  heard  only  “ bone  " and  “ flesh*" 
and  had  great  difficulty  in  maintaining  the  serenity  of  his 
diaphragm. 

The  conversation  of  the  giants  was  now  more  frequently 
interrupted  by  the  wind  which  was  rising*  and  only  broken 
sentences  reached  Andy*  whose  senses  became  clearer  the 
longer  he  remained  in  a state  of  safety;  at  last  he  heard 
the  name  of  Squire  /Egan  distinctly  pass  between  the 
giants. 

“ So  they  know  Squire  Egan*"  thought  Andy. 

The  first  giant  gave  a drunken  laugh  at  the  mention  of 
Squire  Egan's  name*  and  exclaimed: 

“ Don't  be  afraid  of  him  (hiccough);  I have  him  undher 
my  thumb  (hiccough).  I can  crush  him  when  I plase. " 

“ Oh!  my  poor  owld  masther!"  mentally  ejaculated 
Andy. 

Another  break  in  their  conversation  occurred*  and  the 
next  name  Andy  overheard  was  “ O' Grady." 

“ The  big  bully!"  said  the  second  giant. 

“ They  know  the  whole  country*"  thought  Andy. 

“ But  tell  me*  what  was  that  you  said  to  him  at  the 
election?"  said  the  drunken  one. 

The  word  “ election  " recalled  Andy  to  the  business  of 
this  earth  back  again;  and  it  struck  upon  his  hitherto  be- 
wildered sensorium  that  giants  could  have  nothing  to  do 
with  elections*  and  he  knew  he  never  saw  them  there; 
and*  as  the  thought  struck  him*  it  seemed  as  if  the  giants 
diminished  in  size*  and  did  not  appear  quite  so  big. 

“ Sure  you  know*"  said  the  second. 

“ Well,  I'd  like  to  hear  it  again* ?'  said  the  drunken  one 
(hiccough). 

“ The  big  bully  says  to  me*  ‘ Have  you  a lease?*  S3J3 


HANDY  ANDY. 


283 


he;  c No/  says  T;  c but  I have  an  articled  c What  arti- 
cle?* says  he;  6 It's  a fine  brass  blunderbuss/  says  I,  6 and 
I’d  like  to  see  the  man  would  dispute  the  title!’ 99 

The  drunken  listener  chuckled,  and  the  words  broke  the 
spell  of  supernatural  terror  which  had  hung  over  Andy;  he 
knew,  by  the  words  of  the  speaker,  it  was  the  bully  joker 
of  the  election  was  present,  who  browbeat  O'Grady  and 
outquibbled  the  agent  about  the  oath  of  allegiance;  and 
the  voice  of  the  other  he  soon  recognized  for  that  of  Larry 
Hogan.  So  now  his  giants  were  diminished  into  mortal 
men — the  pot,  which  had  been  mentioned  to  the  terror  of 
his  soul,  was  for  the  making  of  whisky  instead  of  human 
broth — and  the  “hell”  he  thought  his  giants  inhabited 
was  but  a private  still.  Andy  felt  as  if  a mountain  had 
been  lifted  from  his  heart  when  he  found  it  was  but  mor- 
tals he  had  to  deal  with;  for  Andy  was  not  deficient  in 
courage  when  it  was  but  thews  and  sinews  like  his  own  he 
had  to  encounter.  He  still  lay  concealed,  however,  for 
smugglers  might  not  wish  their  private  haunt  to  be  discov- 
ered, and  it  was  possible  Andy  would  be  voted  one  too 
many  in  the  company  should  he  announce  himself;  and 
with  such  odds  as  two  to  one  against  him  he  thought  he 
had  better  be  quiet.  Besides,  his  curiosity  became  excited 
when  he  found  them  speaking  of  his  old  master,  Egan,  and 
his  present  one,  O'Grady;  and  as  a woman  had  been  al- 
luded to,  and  odd  words  caught  up  here  and  there,  he  be- 
came anxious  to  hear  more  of  their  conversation. 

“ So  you're  in  love,"  said  Larry,  with  a hiccough,  to  our 
friend  of  the  blunderbuss;  “ ha!  ha!  ha!  you  big  fool.” 

“ Well,  you  old  thief,  don't  you  like  a purty  girl  your- 
self?'' 

“ 1 did,  when  I was  young  and  foolish.” 

“ Faith,  then,  you're  young  and  foolish  at  that  rate  yet, 
you're  a rogue  with  the  girls,  Larry/'  said  the  other,  giv- 
ing him  a slap  on  the  back. 

“ Not  I!  not  I!''  said  Larry,  in  a manner  expressive  of 
his  not  being  displeased  with  the  charge  of  gallantry;  “he! 
he!  he! — how  do  you  know,  eh?”  (Hiccough.) 

“ Sure,  I know  myself;  but  as  I wos  telling  you,  if  I 
could  only  lay  howld  of — ” here  his  voice  became  inaudi- 
ble to  Andy,  and  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost. 

Andy's  curiosity  was  great.  “ Who  could  the  girl  be?” 


284 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ And  you’d  carry  her  off?”  said  Larry. 

“ I would,”  said  the  other;  “ I’m  only  afraid  o’  Squire 
Egan.” 

At  this  announcement  of  the  intention  of  “ carrying  her 
off,”  coupled  with  the  fear  of  “ Squire  Egan,”  Andy’s 
anxiety  to  hear  the  name  of  the  person  became  so  intense 
that  he  crawled  cautiously  a little  nearer  to  the  speak- 
ers. 

“ 1 tell  you  again,”  said  Larry,  “ I can  settle  Mm  aisy 
( 'Mccouyh ) — he’s  under  my  thumb  ( Mccough ).” 

“ Be  aisy,”  said  the  other,  contemptuously,  who  thought 
this  was  a mere  drunken  delusion  of  Larry’s. 

“ I tell  you  I’m  his  masther!”  said  Larry,  with  a 
drunken  flourish  of  his  arm;  and  he  continued  bragging  of 
his  power  over  the  Squire  in  various  ejaculations,  the  exact 
meaning  of  which  our  friend  of  the  blunderbuss  could  not 
fathom,  but  Andy  heard  enough  to  show  him  that  the  dis- 
covery of  the  post-office  affair  was  what  Larry  alluded 
to. 

That  Larry,  a close,  cunning,  circumventing  rascal, 
should  so  far  betray  the  source  of  his  power  over  Egan  may 
seem  strange;  but  be  it  remembered  Larry  was  drunk,  a 
state  of  weakness  which  his  caution  generally  guarded  him 
from  falling  into,  but  which  being  in,  his  foible  was  brag- 
ging of  his  influence,  and  so  running  the  risk  of  losing  it. 

The  men  continued  to  talk  together  for  some  time,  and 
the  tenor  of  the  conversation  was,  that  Larry  assured  his 
companion  he  might  carry  off  the  girl  without  fear  of  Egan, 
but  her  name  Andy  could  not  discover.  His  own  name  he 
heard  more  than  once,  and  voluptuous  raptures  poured  forth 
about  lovely  lips  and  hips  and  ankles  from  the  herculean 
knight  of  the  blunderbuss,  amidst  the  maudlin  admiration 
and  hiccoughs  of  Larry,  who  continued  to  brag  of  his  power, 
and  profess  his  readiness  to  stand  by  his  friend  in  carrying 
off  the  girl. 

“ Then,”  said  the  Hercules,  with  an  oath,  “ I’ll  soon 
have  you  in  my  arms,  my  lovely — ” 

The  name  was  lost  again. 

Their  colloquy  was  now  interrupted  by  the  approach  of 
a man  and  woman,  the  former  being  the  person  for  whose 
appearance  Larry  made  so  many  inquiries  when  he  first 
appeared  to  Andy  as  the  hungry  giant;  the  other  was  the 
gister  of  the  knight  of  the  blunderbuss.  Larry  having 


HANDY  ANDY. 


285 


hiccoughed  his  anger  against  the  man  for  making  them  wait 
so  long  for  the  bacon,  the  woman  said  he  should  not  wait 
longer  without  his  supper  now,  for  that  she  would  go  down 
and  fry  the  rashers  immediately.  She  then  disappeared 
through  ne  ground,  and  the  men  all  followed. 

Andy  drew  his  breath  freely  once  more,  and  with  cau- 
tion raised  himself  gradually  from  the  ground  with  a care- 
ful circumspection,  lest  any  of  the  subterranean  community 
might  be  watchers  on  the  hill;  and  when  he  was  satisfied 
he  was  free  from  observation,  he  stole  away  from  the  spot 
with  stealthy  steps  for  about  twenty  paces,  and  there,  as 
well  as  the  darkness  would  permit,  after  taking  such  land- 
marks as  would  help  him  to  retrace  his  way  to  the  still,  if 
requisite,  he  dashed  down  the  hill  at  the  top  of  his  speed. 
This  pace  he  did  not  moderate  until  he  had  placed  nearly 
a mile  between  him  and  the  scene  of  his  adventure;  he 
then  paced  slowly  to  regain  his  breath.  His  head  was  in  a 
strange  whirl;  mischief  was  threatened  against  some  one  of 
whose  name  he  was  ignorant;  Squire  Egan  was  declared  to 
be  in  the  power  of  an  old  rascal;  this  grieved  Andy  most 
of  all,  for  he  felt  he  was  the  cause  of  his  old  master's 
dilemma. 

“ Oh!  to  think  I should  bring  him  into  trouble,"  said 
Andy,  “ the  kind  and  good  masther  he  was  to  me  ever, 
and  I live  to  tell  it  like  a blackguard — troth  I'd  rather  be 
hanged  any  day  than  the  masther  would  come  to  throuble 
— maybe  if  I gave  myself  up  and  wav  hanged  like  a man  at 
once,  that  would  settle  it;  faith,  if  I thought  it  would,  I'd 
do  it  sooner  than  Squire  Egan  should  come  to  throuble!" 
and  poor  Andy  spoke  just  what  he  felt.  “ Or  would  it  do 
to  kill  that  blackguard  Hogan?  sure  they  could  do  no  more 
than  hang  me  afther ,*  and  that  would  save  the  masther, 
and  be  all  one  to  me,  for  they  often  towld  me  I'd  be 
hanged.  But  then  there's  my  so wl,"  said  Andy,  and  he 
paused  at  the  thought;  “ if  they  hanged  me  for  the  let- 
thers,  it  would  be  only  for  a mistake,  and  sure  then  I'd 
have  a chance  o'  glory;  for  sure  I might  go  to  glory 
through  a mistake;  but  if  I killed  a man  on  purpose,  sure 


* How  oflen  has  the  sanguinary  penal  code  of  past  years  sug- 
gested this  reflection  and  provoked" the  guilt  it  was  meant  to  awe! 
Happily,  now  our  laws  are  milder,  and  more  protective  from  their 

mildness, 


286 


HANDY  AND\. 


it  would  be  slappin’  the  gates  of  Heaven  in  my  own  face. 
JFaix,  I’ll  spake  to  Father  Blake  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

• 

The  following  day  was  that  eventful  one  which  should 
witness  the  return  of  either  Edward  Egan,  Esq.,  or  the 
Honorable  Sackville  Scatterbrain,  as  member  for  the 
county.  There  was  no  doubt  in  any  reasonable  man's 
mind  as  to  the  real  majority  of  Egan,  but  the  numbers 
were  sufficiently  close  to  give  the  sheriff  an  opportunity  of 
doing  a bit  of  business  to  oblige  his  friends,  and  therefore 
he  declared  the  Honorable  Sackville  Scatterbrain  duly 
elected.  Great  was  the  uproar;  the  people  hissed,  and 
hooted,  and  groaned,  for  which  the  Honorable  Sackville 
very  good-naturedly  returned  them  his  thanks.  Murphy 
snapped  his  fingers  in  the  sheriff's  face,  and  told  him  his 
honorable  friend  should  not  long  remain  member,  for  that 
he  must  be  unseated  on  petition,  and  that  he  would  prove 
the  return  most  corrupt,  with  which  words  he  again 
snapped  his  fingers  in  the  sheriff's  face. 

The  sheriff  threatened  to  read  the  riot  act  if  such  con- 
duct was  repeated. 

Egan  took  off  his  hat,  and  thanked  him  for  his  honor - 
able , vpright , and  impartial  conduct,  whereupon  all 
Egan's  friends  took  off  their  hats  also,  and  made  profound 
bows  to  the  functionary,  and  then  laughed  most  uproar- 
iously. Counter  laughs  were  returned  from  the  opposite 
party,  who  begged  to  remind  the  Eganites  of  the  old  say- 
ing, “ that  they  might  laugh  who  win."  A cross-fire  of 

* In  the  foregoing  passage,  Andy  stumbles  on  uttering  a quaint 
pleasantry,  for  it  is  partly  true  as  well  as  droll — the  notion  of  a man 
gaining  Paradise  through  a mistake.  Our  intentions  too  seldom 
lead  us  there,  but  rather  tend  the  other  way,  for  a certain  place  is 
said  to  be  paved  with  “ good  ” ones,  and  surely  “ bad”  ones  would 
not  lead  us  upward.  Then  the  phrase  of  a man  “ slapping  the 
gates  of  Heaven  in  his  own  face,”  is  one  of  those  wild  poetic  figures 
of  speech  in  which  the  Irish  peasantry  often  indulge.  The  phrase 
“slapping  the  door”  is  every-day  and  common;  but  when  applied 
tto  “ the  gates  of  Heaven,”  and  “in  a man’s  own  face,”  the  common 
phrase  becomes  fine.  But  how  often  the  commonest  things  become 
poetry  by  the  fitness  of  their  application,  though  poetasters  and 
people  of  small  minds  think  greatness  of  thought  lies  in  big  words. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


28? 


sarcasms  was  kept  up  amidst  the  two  parties  as  they  were 
crushing  forward  out  of  the  court-house;  and  at  the  door, 
before  entering  his  carriage.  Scatterbrain  very  politely  ad- 
dressed Egan,  and  trusted  that,  though  they  had  met  as 
rivals  on  the  hustings,  they  nevertheless  parted  friends, 
and  expressing  the  highest  respect  for  the  squire  offered  his 
hand  in  amity. 

Egan,  equally  good-hearted  as  his  opponent,  shook  his 
hand  cordially;  declaring  he  attributed  to  him  none  of  the 
blame  which  attached  to  other  persons.  44  Besides,  my 
dear  sir/*  said  Egan,  laughing,  44  I should  be  a very  ill- 
natured  person  to  grudge  you  so  small  an  indulgence  as 
being  member  of  Parliament  for  a month  or  so.” 

Scatterbrain  returned  the  laugh,  good-humoredly,  and 
replied  that,  44  at  all  events,  he  had  the  seat.  ** 

44  Yes,  my  dear  sir/*  said  Egan,  44  and  make  the  most 
of  it  while  you  have  it.  In  short,  I shall  owe  you  an 
obligation  when  I go  over  to  St.  Stephen  *s,  for  you  will 
have  just  aired  my  seat  for  me — good-bye.** 

They  parted  with  smiles,  and  drove  to  their  respective 
homes;  but  as  even  doubtful  possession  is  preferable  to  ex- 
pectation for  the  time  being,  it  is  certain  that  Neck-or- 
nothing  Hall  rang  with  more  merriment  that  night  on  the 
reality  of  the  present,  than  Merryvale  did  on  the  hope  of 
the  future. 

Even  0*Grady,  as  he  lay  with  his  wounded  arm  on  the 
sofa,  found  more  healing  in  the  triumph  of  the  hour  than 
from  all  the  medicaments  of  the  foregoing  week,  and  insist- 
ed on  go%g  down-stairs  and  joining  the  party  at  supper. 

44  Gusty  dear/*  said  his  wife,  6 4 you  know  the  doctor 
said  * * 

44  Hang  the  doctor!** 

44  Your  arm,  my  love.** 

44 1 wish  you*d  leave  off  pitying  my  arm,  and  have  some 
compassion  on  my  stomach.  ** 

44  The  doctor  said — ** 

44  There  are  oysters  in  the  house;  1*11  do  myself  more 
good  by  the  use  of  an  oyster-knife  than  all  the  lancets  in 
the  College  of  Surgeons.** 

44  But  your  wound,  dear?** 

44  Are  they  Carlingfords  or  Poldoodies?*J 
44  So  fresh,  love.** 

44  So  much  the  better/* 


288 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Your  wound  I mean*  dear?” 

“ Nicely  opened.  ” 

“ Only  dressed  an  hour  ago?” 

“ With  some  mustard,  pepper,  and  vinegar/7 
“ Indeed,  Gusty,  if  you  take  my  advice — ” 

“ I'd  rather  have  oysters  any  day.” 

0*  Grady  sat  up  on  the  sofa  as  he  spoke  and  requested 
his  wife  to  say  no  more  about  the  matter,  but  put  on  his 
cravat.  While  she  was  getting  it  from  his  wardrobe,  his } 
mind  wandered  from  supper  to  the  pension,  which  he 
looked  upon  as  secure  now  that  Scatterbrain  was  returned; 
and  oyster-banks  gave  place  to  the  Bank  of  Ireland,  which 
rose  in  a pleasing  image  before  O'Grady's  imagination. 
The  wife  now  returned  with  the  cravat,  still  dreading  the 
result  of  eating  to  her  husband,  and  her  mind  occupied 
wholly  with  the  thought  of  supper,  while  O'Grady  was 
wrapped  in  visions  of  a pension. 

“ You  won't  take  it.  Gusty,  dear,”  said  his  wife  with 
all  the  insinuation  of  manner  she  could  command. 

“ Won't  I,  faith?”  said  O'Grady.  “ Maybe  you  think 
I don't  want  it?” 

“ Indeed,  I don't,  dear.” 

“ Are  you  mad,  woman?  Is  it  taking  leave  of  the  few 
senses  you  ever  had  you  are?” 

“ 'T won't  agree  with  you.  ” 

“ Won't  it?  just  wait  till  I'm  tried.” 

“ Well,  love,  how  much  do  you  expect  to  be  allowed?” 

“ Why  I can't  expect  much  just  yet — we  must  begin 
gently — feel  the  pulse  first;  but  I should  hope,  by  way  of 
start,  that  six  or  seven  hundred — ” 

“ Gracious  Heaven!”  exclaimed  his  wife,  dropping  the 
cravat  from  her  hands. 

“What  the  devil  is  the  woman  shouting  at?”  said 
0' Grady. 

“Six  or  seven  hundred!  ! !”  exclaimed  Mrs.  O'Grady; 

“ my  dear,  there's  not  as  much  in  the  house.” 

“No,  nor  has  not  been  for  many  a long  day;  I know 
that  as  well  as  you,”  said  0' Grady;  “ but  I hope  we  shall 
get  as  much  for  all  that.” 

“ My  dear,  where  could  you  get  them?”  asked  the  wife, 
timidly,  who  began  to  think  his  head  was  a little  light. 

“ From  the  treasury,  to  be  sure.” 


HANDY  ANDY. 


289 


“ The  treasury,  my  dear?”  said  the  wife,  still  at  fault] 
" how  could  you  get  oysters  from  the  treasury?” 

“ Oysters!”  exclaimed  0* Grady,  whose  turn  it  was  now 
to  wonder,  “ who  talks  of  oysters?” 

“ My  dear,  I thought  you  said  you'd  eat  six  or  seven 
hundred  of  oysters!” 

“ Pooh!  pooh!  woman;  it  is  of  the  pension  I'm  talking 
— six  or  seven  hundred  pounds  — pounds  — cash  — per 
annum;  now  I suppose  you'll  put  on  my  cravat.  I think 
a man  may  be  allowed  to  eat  his  supper  who  expects  six 
hundred  a year.” 

A great  many  people  besides  O'Grady  order  suppers,  and 
dinners  too,  on  the  expectation  of  less  than  six  hundred  a 
year.  Perhaps  there  is  no  more  active  agent  for  sending 
people  into  the  Insolvent  Court  than  the  aforesaid  “ ex- 
pectation.” 

0' Grady  went  down-stairs,  and  was  heartily  welcomed 
by  Scatterbrain  on  his  re-appearance  from  his  sick-room; 
but  Mrs.  O'Grady  suggested,  that,  for  fear  any  excess 
would  send  him  back  there  for  a longer  time,  a very  mod- 
erate indulgence  at  the  table  should  suffice.  She  begged 
the  honorable  member  to  back  her  argument,  which  he  did; 
and  O'Grady  promised  temperance,  but  begged  the  imme- 
diate appearance  of  the  oysters,  for  he  experienced  that 
eager  desire  which  delicate  health  so  often  prompts  for 
some  particular  food. 

Andy  was  laying  the  table  at  the  time,  and  was  ordered 
to  expedite  matters  as  much  as  possible. 

“ Yis,  ma'am.” 

“ You're  sure  the  oysters  are  all  good,  Andy?” 

“ Sartin,  ma'am.” 

“ Because  the  last  oysters  you  know — ” 

“ Oh,  yis,  ma'am — were  bad,  ma'am — bekase  they  had 
their  mouths  all  open.  I remember,  ma'am;  but  when 
I'm  towld  a thing  once,  I never  forget  it  again;  and  you 
towld  me  when  they  opened  their  mouths  once  they  were 
no  good.  So  you  see,  ma'am,  I'll  never  bring  up  bad 
oysthers  again,  ma'am.” 

“ Very  good,  Andy;  and  you  have  kept  them  in  a cool 
Jplace,  I hope.” 

“ Faix,  they're  cowld  enough  where  I put  them,  ma'am.” 

“ Very  well;  bring  them  up  at  once.” 
no 


290 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Off  went  Andy,  and  returned  with,  all  the  haste  he  could 
with  a large  dish  heaped  up  with  oysters. 

O'Grady  rubbed  his  hands  with  the  impatience  of  a true 
lover  of  the  crustaceous  delicacy,  and  Scatterbrain,  eager 
to  help  him,  flourished  his  oyster-knife;  but  before  he  had 
time  to  commence  operations  the  olfactory  nerves  of  the 
company  gave  evidence  that  the  oysters  were  rather  suspi- 
cious; every  one  begun  sniffing,  and  a universal,  “ Oh 
dear!"  ran  round  the  table. 

“ Don't  you  smell  it,  Furlong?"  said  Scatterbrain,  who 
was  so  lost  in  looking  at  Augusta's  mustachios  that  he  did 
not  mind  anything  else. 

“ Isn't  it  horrid?"  said  O'Grady,  with  a look  of  disgust. 

Furlong  thought  he  alluded  to  the  mustachio,  and  re- 
plied with  an  assurance  that  he  “ liked  it  of  all  things." 

“ Like  it?"  said  O'Grady;  “you've  a queer  taste. 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  miss?"  added  he  to  Augusta, 
“ it's  just  under  your  nose." 

Furlong  thought  this  rather  personal,  even  from  a father. 

“I'll  try  my  knife  on  one,"  said  Scatterbrain,  with  a 
flourish  of  the  oyster-knife,  which  Furlong  thought  resem- 
bled the  preliminary  trial  of  a barber's  razor. 

Furlong  thought  this  worse  than  O'Grady;  but  he  hesi- 
tated to  reply  to  his  chief,  and  an  honorable  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

In  the  meantime.  Scatterbrain  opened  an  oyster,  which 
Furlong,  in  his  embarrassment  and  annoyance,  did  not 
perceive. 

“ Cut  off  the  beard,"  said  O'Grady,  “ I don't  like  it." 

This  nearly  made  Furlong  speak,  but,  -considering 
O' Grady's  temper  and  ill-health,  he  hesitated,  till  he  saw 
Augusta  rubbing  her  eye,  in  consequence  of  a small  splinter 
of  the  oyster-shell  having  struck  it  from  Scatterbrain’ s mis- 
management of  his  knife;  but  Furlong  thought  she  wras 
crying,  and  then  he  could  be  silent  no  longer;  he  went 
over  to  where  she  sat,  and  with  a very  affectionate  demon- 
stration in  his  action,  said,  “ Nevermind  them,  dear  Gussy 
— never  mind — don't  cwy — I love  her  dear  littie  mus- 
tachios, I do."  He  gave  a gentle  pat  on  the  back  of 
the  neck  as  he  spoke,  and  it  was  returned  by  an  uncom- 
monly smart  box  on  the  ear  from  the  young  lady,  and  the 
whole  party  looked  thunderstruck.  “ Dear  Gussy  " cried 


HANDY  ANDY.  29 1 

for  spite,  and  stamped  her  way  out  of  the  room,  followed 
by  Furlong. 

“ Let  them  go  ,"  said  O'Grady;  “ they'll  make  it  up 
outside. " 

“ These  oysters  are  all  bad/'  said  Scatterbrain. 

O' Grady  began  to  swear  at  his  disappointment — he  had 
sethis  heart  on  oysters.  Mrs.  O'Grady  rang  the  bell — 
Andy  appeared. 

“ How  dare  you  bring  up  such  oysters  as  these?"  roared 
O' Grady. 

“ The  misthris  ordhered  them,  sir." 

“ I told  you  never  to  bring  up  bad  oysters,"  said  she. 

“ Them's  not  bad,  ma'am,"  said  Andy. 

“ Have  you  a nose?"  says  O'Grady. 

“ Yes,  sir." 

“ And  can't  you  smell  them,  then?" 

“ Faix,  I smelled  them  for  the  last  three  days,  sir. " 

“ And  how  could  you  say  they  were  good,  then?"  asked 
his  mistress. 

“ Sure  you  tould  me,  ma'am,  that  if  they  didn't  open 
their  mouths  they  were  good,  and  I'll  be  on  my  book  oath 
them  oysters  never  opened  their  mouths  since  I had  them> 
for  I laid  them  on  a cool  flag  in  the  kitchen  and  put  the 
jack- weight  over  them. " . 

Notwithstanding  O' Grady's  rage.  Scatterbrain  could  not 
help  roaring  with  laughter  at  Andy's  novel  contrivance  for 
keeping  oysters  fresh.  Andy  was  desired  to  take  the  “ an- 
cient and  fish-like  smell ' ' out  of  the  room,  amidst  jeers 
and  abuse;  and,  as  he  fumbled  his  way  to  the  kitchen  in 
the  dark,  lamenting  the  hard  fate  of  servants,  who  can 
never  give  satisfaction,  though  they  do  everything  they  are 
bid,  he  went  head  over  heels  downstairs,  which  event  was 
reported  to  the  whole  house  as  soon  as  it  happened,  by  the 
enormous  clatter  of  the  broken  dish,  the  oysters,  and  Andy, 
as  they  all  rolled  one  over  the  other  to  the  bottom. 

O'Grady,  having  missed  the  cool  supper  he  intended,  and 
had  longed  for,  was  put  into  a rage  by  the  disappointment; 
and  as  hunger  with  O' Grady  v/as  only  to  be  appeased  by 
broiled  bones,  accordingly,  against  all  the  endeavors  of 
everybody,  the  bells  rang  violently  through  the  house,  and 
the  ogre-like  cry  of  “ broiled  bones!"  resounded  high  and 
low. 


292 


HANDY  ANDY, 


The  reader  is  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with  0*Grady 
by  this  time  to  know,  that  of  course,  when  once  he  had  de- 
termined to  have  his  broiled  bone,  nothing  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  could  prevent  it  but  the  want  of  anything  to  broil, 
or  the  immediate  want  of  his  teeth;  and  as  his  mastica- 
tors were  in  order,  and  something  in  the  house  which  could 
carry  mustard  and  pepper,  the  invalid  primed  and  loaded 
himself  with  as  much  combustible  matter  as  exploded  in  a 
fever  the  next  day. 

The  supper-party,  however,  in  the  hope  of  getting  him 
ter  bed,  separated  soon;  and  as  Scatterbrain  and  Furlong 
were  to  start  early  in  the  morning  for  Dublin,  the  necessity 
of  their  retiring  to  rest  was  pleaded.  The  honorable  mem- 
ber had  not  been  long  in  his  room  when  he  heard  a tap  at 
his  door,  and  his  order  to  “ come  in **  was  followed  by  the 
appearance  of  Handy  Andy. 

“ I found  somethin*  on  the  road  nigh  the  town  to-day, 
sir,  and  I thought  it  might  be  yours,  maybe,**  said  Andy, 
producing  a small  pocket-book. 

The  honorable  member  disavowed  the  ownership. 

“ Well,  there  *s  something  else  I want  to  speak  to  your 
honor  about.  ** 

“ What  is  it.  Handy?** 

“ I want  your  honor  to  see  the  account  of  the  money 
your  honor  gave  me  that  I spint  at  the  shebeen * upon  the 
*lecthors  that  couldn*t  be  accommodated  at  Mrs.  Fay*s.  ** 

“ Oh!  never  mind  it,  Andy;  if  there* s anything  over, 
keep  it  yourself.  ** 

“ Thank  your  honor,  but  I must  make  the  account  all 
the  same,  if  you  plaze,  for  X*m  going  to  Father  Blake,  to 
my  duty,f  soon,  and  X must  have  my  conscience  as  clear 
as  I can,  and  I wouldn*t  like  to  be  keeping  money 
back.** 

“ But  if  I give  you  the  money,  what  matter?** 

“ I*d  rather  you*d  just  look  over  this  little  bit  of  a 
count,  if  you  plaze,**  said  Andy,  producing  a dirty  piece 
of  paper,  with  some  nearly  inscrutable  hieroglyphics  upon  it. 

Scatterbrain  commenced  an  examination  of  this  literary 
phenomenon  from  sheer  curiosity,  asking  Andy  at  the  same 
time  if  he  wrote  it. 


* Lowjpublic-house. 


t Confession. 


HAii  i)  i 


293 


“ Yis,  sir/’  said  Andy;  “ but  you  see  the  man  couldn’t 
keep  the  count  of  the  piper’s  dhrink  at  all,  it  was  so  con-- 
f usin’,  and  so  I was  obliged  to  pay  him  for  that  every  time 
the  piper  dhrunk  and  keep  it  separate,  and  the  ’lectliors 
that  got  their  dinner  afther  the  bill  was  made  out  I put 
down  myself  too,  and  that’s  it  you  see,  sir,  both  ating  and 
dhrinkin,.” 

To  Dhrinkin  A blinD  piper  everry  day  wan  and 


in  Pens  six  dais 0 16  6 

To  atein  four  Tin  Ulikthurs  And  Thare  horses  ) 1 8 8 
on  Chewsdai ) 0 14  0 


Toe  til 2 19  4 

Landlord  Bil  For  All  Be  four  7 17  8* 


10  18  12* 


“ Then  I owe  you  money,  instead  of  your  having  a bal- 
ance in  hand,  Andy,”  said  the  member. 

“ Oh,  no  matter,  your  honor;  it's  not  for  that  I showed 
you  the  account.  ” 

“ It's  very  like  it,  though,”  said  Scatterbrain,  laughing; 

“ here,  Andy,  here  are  a couple  of  pounds  for  you,  take 
them,  Andy — take  it  and  be  off;  your  bill  is  worth  the 
money,”  and  Scatterbrain  closed  the  door  on  the  great  ac- 
countant. 

Andy  next  went  to  Furlong's  room,  to  know  if  the 
pocket-book  belonged  to  him;  it  did  not,  but  Furlong, 
though  he  disclaimed  the  ownership,  had  that  small  curi- 
osity which  prompts  little  minds  to  pry  into  what  does  not 
belong  to  them,  aud  taking  the  pocket-book  into  his  hands,— 
he  opened  it,  and  fumbled  over  its  leaves;  in  the  doing  of 
which  a small  piece  of  folded  paper  fell  from  one  of  the 
pockets  unnoticed  by  the  impertinent  inquisitor  or  Andy, 
to  whom  he  returned  the  book  when  he  had  gratified  his 
senseless  curiosity. 

Andy  withdrew,  Furlong  retired  to  rest;  and  as  it  was 
in  the  gray  of  an  autumnal  morning  he  dressed  himself, 
the.  paper  still  remained  unobserved;  so  that  the  house- 
maid, on  setting  the  room  to  rights,  found  it,  and  fancy- 
ing Miss  Augusta  was  the  proper  person  to  confide  Mr, 


294 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Furlong's  stray  papers  to,  she  handed  that  young  lady  the 
manuscript  which  bore  the  following  copy  of  verses: 

I CAN  NE’ER  FORGET  THEE. 

i. 

It  is  the  chime,  the  hour  draws  near. 

When  you  and  I must  sever; 

Alas,  it  must  be  many  a year. 

And  it  may  be  forever ! 

How  long  till  we  shall  meet  again! 

How  short  since  first  1 met  thee! 

How  brief  the  bliss— how  long  the  pain— 

For  I can  ne'er  forget  thee. 

ii. 

You  said  my  heart  was  cold  and  stern; 

You  doubted  love  when  strongest: 

In  future  days  you’ll  live  to  learn 
Proud  hearts  can  love  the  longest. 

Oh!  sometimes  think,  when  press’d  to  hear. 

When  flippant  tongues  beset  thee, 

That  all  must  love  thee,  when  thou’rt  near, 

But  one  will  ne’er  forget  thee  I 

hi. 

The  changeful  sand  doth  only  know 
The  shallow  tide  and  latest; 

The  rocks  have  mark’d  its  highest  flow. 

The  deepest  and  the  greatest; 

And  deeper  still  the  flood-marks  grow:— 

So,  since  the  hour  I met  thee. 

The  more  the  tide  of  time  doth  flow. 

The  less  can  I forget  thee ! 

When  Augusta  saw  the  lines,  she  was  charmed.  She 
discovered  her  Furlong  to  be  a poet!  That  the  lines  were 
his  there  was  no  doubt— they  were  found  in  his  room , and 
of  course  they  must  be  his,  just  as  partial  critics  say  certain 
Irish  airs  must  be  English,  because  they  are  to  be  found  in 
Queen  Elizabeth's  music-book. 

Augusta  was  so  charmed  with  the  lines  that  she  amused 
herself  for  a long  time  in  hiding  them  under  the  sofa-cush- 
ion and  making  her  pet  dog  find  and  fetch  them.  Her 
pleasure,  however,  was  interrupted  by  her  sister  Charlotte 
remarking,  when  the  lines  were  shown  to  her  in  triumph, 
that  the  writing  was  not  Furlong's,  but  in  a lady's  hand. 

Even  as  beer  is  suddenly  soured  by  thunder,  so  the  elec- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


595 


trie  influence  of  Charlotte's  words  converted  all  Augusta 
had  been  brewing  to  acidity;  jealousy  stung  her  like  a 
wasp,  and  she  boxed,  her  dog's  ears  as  he  was  barking  for 
another  run  with  the  verses. 

“A  lady’s  hand?"  said  Augusta,  snatching  the  paper 
from  her  sister;  “ I declare  if  it  ain't!  the  wretch — so  he 
receives  lines  from  ladies. " 

“ I think  I know  the  hand,  too,"  said  Charlotte. 

“ You  do?"  exclaimed  Augusta,  with  flashing  eyes. 

“ Yes,  I'm  certain  it  is  Fanny  Dawson's  writing." 

“ So  it  is,"  said  Augusta,  looking  at  the  paper  as  if  her 
eyes  could  have  burned  it;  “ to  be  sure — he  was  there  be- 
fore he  came  here. " 

“ Only  for  two  days,"  said  Charlotte,  trying  to  slake  the 
flame  she  had  raised. 

“ But  I've  heard  that  girl  always  makes  conquests  at 
first  sight,"  returned  Augusta,  half  crying;  “ and  what  do 
I see  here?  some  words  in  pencil." 

The  words  were  so  faint  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible,  but 
Augusta  deciphered  them;  they  were  written  on  the  mar- 
gin, beside  a circumflex  which  embraced  the  last  four  line3 
of  the  second  verse,  so  that  it  stood  thus: 

Oh!  sometimes  think,  when  press’d  to  hear, 

When  flippant  tongues  beset  thee,  [Dearest,  1 

That  all  must  love  thee  when  thou’rt  near,  j mil. 

But  one  will  ne’er  forget  thee ! J 

“ Will  you,  indeed?"  said  Augusta,  crushing  the  paper 
in  her  hand,  and  biting  it;-  “ but  I must  not  destroy  it— I 
must  keep  it  to. prove  his  treachery  to  his  face."  She 
threw  herself  on  the  sofa  as  she  spoke,  and  gave  vent  to 
an  outpour  of  spiteful  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

How  many  chapters  have  been  written  about  love  verses 
— and  how  many  more  might  be  written! — might,  would, 
could,  should,  or  ought  to  be  written! — I will  venture  to 
say,  will  be  written!  I have  a mind  to  fulfill  my  own 
prophecy  and  write  one  myself;  but  no — my  story  must  go 
on.  However,  1 will  say,  that  it  is  quite  curious  in  how 
many  ways  the  same  little  bit  of  paper  may  influence  differ- 


296 


HAHDY  ANDY* 


ent  people:  the  poem  whose  literary  merit  may  be  small 
becomes  precious  when  some  valued  hand  has  transcribed 
the  lines;  and  the  verses  whose  measure  and  meaning 
viewed  in  type  might  win  favor  and  yield  pleasure,  shoot 
poison  from  their  very  sweetness,  when  read  in  some  par- 
ticular hand  and  under  particular  circumstances.  It  was 
so  with  the  copy  of  verses  Augusta  had  just  read — they 
were  Fanny  Dawson's  manuscript — that  was  certain — and 
found  in  the  room  of  Augusta's  lover;  therefore  Augusta 
was  wretched.  But  these  same  lines  had  given  exquisite 
pleasure  to  another  person,  who  was  now  nearly  as  misera- 
ble as  Augusta  in  having  lost  them.  It  is  possible  the 
reader  guesses  that  person  to  be  Edward  O'Connor,  for  it 
was  he  who  had  lost  the  pocket-book  in  which  those  (to 
him)  precious  lines  were  contained;  and  if  the  little  case 
had  held  all  the  bank-notes  he  ever  owned  in  his  life,  their 
loss  would  have  been  regarded  less  than  that  bit  of  manu- 
script, which  had  often  yielded  him  the  most  exquisite 
pleasure,  and  was  now  inflicting  on  Augusta  the  bitterest 
anguish. 

To  make  this  intelligible  to  the  reader,  it  is  necessary  to 
explain  under  what  circumstances  the  lines  were  written. 
At  one  time,  Edward,  doubting  Ihe  likelihood  of  making 
his  way  at  home,  was  about  to  go  to  India  and  push  his 
fortunes  there;  and  at  that  period,  those  lines,  breathing  of 
farewell — implying  the  dread  of  rivals  during  absence — and 
imploring  remembrance  of  his  eternal  love,  were  written 
and  given  to  Fanny;  and  she,  with  that  delicacy  of  contri- 
vance so  peculiarly  a woman's,  hit  upon  the  expedient  of 
copying  his  own  verses  and  sending  them  to  him  in  her 
writing,  as  an  indication  that  the  spirit  of  the  lines  was 
her  own. 

But  Edward  saw  that  his  father,  who  was  advanced  in 
years,  looked  upon  a separation  from  his  son  as  an  eternal 
one,  and  the  thought  gave  so  much  pain,  that  Edward  gave 
up  the  idea  of  expatriation.  Shortly  after,  however,  the 
misunderstanding  with  Major  Dawson  took  place,  and 
Fanny  and  Edward  were  as  much  severed  as  if  dwelling  in 
different  zones.  Under  such  circumstances,  those  lines 
were  peculiarly  precious,  and  many  a kiss  had  Edward  im- 
pressed upon  them,  though  Augusta  thought  them  fitter 
for  the  exercise  of  her  teeth  than  her  lips.  In  fact,  Ed- 
Ward  did  little  else  than  think  of  Fanny;  and  it  is  possible 


HANDY  ANDY*. 


29* 

his  passion  might  have  degenerated  into  mere  love-sick- 
ness, and  enfeebled  him,  had  not  his  desire  of  proving  him- 
self worthy  of  his  mistress  spurred  him  to  exertion,  in  the 
hope  of  future  distinction.  But  still  the  tone  of  tender  la- 
ment pervaded  all  his  poems,  and  the  same  pocket-book 
whence  the  verses  which  caused  so  much  commotion  fell 
contained  the  following  also,  showing  how  entirely  Fanny 
possessed  his  heart  and  occupied  his  thoughts: 

WHEN  THE  SUN  SINKS  TO  REST. 

i. 

When  the  sun  sinks  to  rest, 

And  the  star  of  the  west 
Sheds  its  soft  silver  light  o'er  the  sea; 

What  sweet  thoughts  arise, 

As  the  dim  twilight  dies — 

For  then  I am  thinking  of  thee! 

Oh!  then  crowding  fast 
Come  the  joys  of  the  past, 

Through  the  dimness  of  days  long  gone  by. 

Like  the  stars  peeping  out. 

Through  the  darkness  about. 

From  the  soft  silent  depth  of  the  sky. 

ii. 

And  thus,  as  the  night 
Grows  more  lovely  and  bright 
With  the  clust’ring  of  planet  and  star,  ' 

So  this  darkness  of  mine 
Wins  a radiance  divine 
From  the  light  that  still  lingers  afar. 

Then  welcome  the  night. 

With  its  soft  holy  light! 

In  its  silence  my  heart  is  more  free 
The  rude  wToiid  to  forget. 

Where  no  pleasure  I’ve  met 
Since  the  hour  that  I parted  from  thee. 

But  we  must  leave  love  verses,  and  ask  pardon  for  the  few 
remarks  which  the  subject  tempted,  and  pursue  our  story. 
The  first  prompting  of  Augusta’s  anger,  when  she  had 
recovered  her  burst  of  passion,  was  to  write  “ such  a letter  ’* 
to  Furlong — and  she  spent  half  a day  at  the  work;  but  she 
could  not  please  herself — she  tore  twenty  at  least,  and  de- 
termined, at  last,  not  to  write  at  all,  but  just  wait  till  he 
returned  and  overwhelm  him  with  reproaches.  But, 


HAKI)Y  Aisrftlf. 


though  she  could  not  compose  a letter,  she  composed  her- 
self by  the  endeavor,  which  acted  as  a sort  of  safety-value 
to  let  off  the  superabundant  steam;  and  it  is  wonderful 
how  general  is  this  result  of  sitting  down  to  write  angry 
letters;  people  vent  themselves  of  their  spleen  on  the  un- 
complaining paper,  which  silently  receives  words  a listener 
would  not.  With  a pen  for  our  second,  desperate  satisfac- 
tion is  obtained  with  only  an  effusion  of  ink,  and  when 
once  the  pent-up  bitterness  has  oozed  out  in  all  the  black- 
ness of  that  fluid — most  appropriately  made  of  the  best 
galls — the  time  so  spent,  and  the  “ letting  of  words,”  if  I 
may  use  the  phrase,  has  cooled  our  judgment  and  our  pas- 
sions together;  and  the  first  letter  is  torn : 'tis  too  severe; 
we  write  a second;  we  blot  and  interline  till  it  is  nearly 
illegible;  we  begin  a third;  till  at  last  we  are  tired  out  with 
our  own  angry  feelings,  and  throw  our  scribbling  by  with 
a “ Pshaw!  what's  the  use  of  it?”  or,  “ IPs  not  worth  my 
notice ;"  or,  still  better,  arrive  at  the  conclusion,  that  we 
preserve  our  own  dignity  best  by  writing  with  temper, 
though  we  may  be  called  upon  to  be  severe. 

Furlong  at  this  time  was  on  his  road  to  Dublin  in  happy 
unconsciousness  of  Augusta's  rage  against  him,  and  plan- 
ning what  pretty  little  present  he  should  send  her  special- 
ly, for  his  head  was  naturally  running  on  such  matters,  as 
he  had  quantities  of  commissions  to  execute  in  the  millinery 
line  for  Mrs.  O' Grady,  who  thought  it  high  time  to  be  get- 
ting up  Augusta's  wedding-dresses,  and  Andy  was  to  be 
dispatched  the  following  day  to  Dublin,  to  take  charge  of 
a cargo  of  band-boxes  back  from  that  city  to  Neck-or-noth- 
ing  Hall.  Furlong  had  received  a thousand  charges  from 
the  ladies,  “ to  be  sure  to  lose  no  time  " in  doing  his  devoir 
in  their  behalf,  and  he  obeyed  so  strictly,  and  was  so  active 
in  laying  milliners  and  mercers  under  contributions,  that 
Andy  was  enabled  to  start  the  day  after  his  arrival,  sorely 
against  Andy's  will,  for  he  would  gladly  have  remained 
amidst  the  beauty  and  grandeur  and  wonders  of  Dublin, 
which  struck  him  dumb  for  the  day  he  was  amongst  them, 
but  gave  him  food  for  conversation  for  many  a day  after. 
Furlong,  after  racking  his  invention  about  the  souvenir  to 
his  “ dear  Gussy,”  at  length  fixed  on  a fan,  as  the  most 
suitable  gift;  for  Gussy  had  been  quizzed  at  home  about 
‘ 6 blushing,''  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  the  puerile 
perceptions  of  the  attache  saw  something  very  smart  in 


BANDY  ANDY. 


m 


sending  her  wherewith  “ to  hide  her  blushes.”  Then  the 
fan  was  the  very  pink  of  fans;  it  had  quivers  and  arrows 
upon  it,  and  bunches  of  hearts  looped  up  in  azure  festoons, 
and  doves  perched  upon  them;  though  Augusta's  little 
sister,  who  was  too  young  to  know  what  hearts  and  doves 
were,  when  she  saw  them  for  the  first  time,  said  they  were 
pretty  little  birds  picking  at  apples.  The  fan  was  packed 
up  in  a nice  case,  and  then  on  scented  note-paper  did  the 
dear  dandy  indite  a bit  of  namby-pamby  badinage  to  his 
fair  one,  which  he  thought  excessively  clever: 

“ Dear  Ducky  Darling, — You  know  how  naughty 
they  are  quizzing  you  about  a little  something,  I won’t  say 
what , you  will  guess,  I dare  say — but  I send  you  a little 
toy,  I won’t  say  what , on  which  Cupid  might  write  this 
label  after  the  doctor's  fashion,  ‘ To  be  used  occasionally, 
when  the  patient  is  much  troubled  with  the  symptoms.' 

“ Ever,  ever,  ever  yours,  J.  F . 

“P.S.  Take  care  how  you  open  it.” 

Such  was  the  note  that  Handy  Andy  was  given,  with 
particular  injunctions  to  deliver  it  the  first  thing  on  his 
arrival  at  the  Hall  to  Miss  Augusta,  and  to  be  sure  to  take 
most  particular  care  of  the  little  case;  all  which  Andy 
faithfully  promised  to  do.  But  Andy's  usual  destiny  pre- 
vailed, and  an  unfortunate  exchange  of  parcels  quite  upset 
all  Furlong's  sweet  little  plan  of  his  pretty  present  and  his 
ingenious  note:  for  as  Andy  was  just  taking  his  departure, 
Furlong  said  he  might  as  well  leaVe  something  for  him  at 
Eeade's,  the  cutler,  as  he  passed  through  College  Green, 
and  he  handed  him  a case  of  razors  which  wanted  setting, 
which  Andy  popped  into  his  pocket,  and  as  the  fan  case 
and  that  of  the  razors  were  much  of  a size,  and  both  folded 
up,  Andy  left  the  fan  at  the  cutler's  and  took  the  case  of 
razors  by  way  of  present  to  Augusta.  Fancy  the  rage  of  a 
young  lady  with  a very  fine  pair  of  mustachios  getting  such 
a souvenir  from  her  lover,  with  a note,  too,  every  word  of 
which  applied  to  a beard  and  a razor,  as  patly  as  to  a blush 
and  a fan — and  this,  too,  when  her  jealousy  was  aroused 
and  his  fidelity  more  than  doubtful  in  her  estimation. 

Great  was  the  row  in  Neck-or-no  thing  Hall;  and  when, 
after  three  days,  Furlong  came  down,  the  nature  of  his  re- 
ception may  be  better  imagined  than  described.  It  was  a 


aoo 


HANDY  ANDY. 


difficult  matter,  through  the  storm  which  raged  around 
him,  to  explain  all  the  circumstances  satisfactorily,  but,  by 
dint  of  hard  work,  the  verses  were  at  length  disclaimed, 
the  razors  disavowed,  and  Andy  at  last  sent  for  to  “ clear 
matters  up.” 

Andy  was  a hopeful  subject  for  such  a purpose,  and  by 
his  blundering  answers  nearly  set  them  all  by  the  ears 
again;  the  upshot  of  the  affair  was,  that  Andy,  used  as  he 
was  to  good  scoldings,  never  had  such  a torrent  of  abuse 
poured  on  him  in  his  life,  and  the  affair  ended  in  Andy  be- 
ing dismissed  from  Neek-or-nothing  Hall  on  the  instant; 
so  he  relinquished  his  greasy  livery  for  his  own  rags  again, 
and  trudged  homeward  to  his  mother’s  cabin. 

“ She’ll  be  as  mad  as  a hatter  with  me,”  said  Andy; 
“ bad  luck  to  them  for  razhirs,  they  cut  me  out  o’  my 

flace;  but  I often  heard  cowld  steel  is  unlucky,  and  sure 
know  it  now.  Oh!  but  I’m  always  unfort’nate  in  hav- 
ing cruked  messages.  Well,  it  can’t  be  helped;  and  one 
good  thing  at  all  events  is.  I’ll  have  time  enough  now  to  go 
and  spake  to  Father  Blake;”  and  with  this  sorry  piece  of 
satisfaction  poor  Andy  contented  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

The  Father  Blake  of  whom  Andy  spoke,  was  more  fa- 
miliarly known  by  the  name  of  Father  Phil,  by  which  title 
Andy  himself  would  have  named  him,  had  he  been  telling 
how  Father  Phil  cleared  a fair,  or  equally  “ leathered  ” 
both  the  belligerent  parties  in  a faction  fight,  or  turned  out 
the  contents  (or  malcontents)  of  a public-house  at  an  im- 
proper hour;  but  when  he  spoke  of  his  Reverence  respect- 
ing ghostly  matters,  the  importance  of  the  subject  begot 
higher  consideration  for  the  man,  and  the  familiar  “ Father 
Pml  ” was  dropped  for  the  more  respectful  title  of  Father 
Blake.  By  either  title,  or  in  whatever  capacity,  the  worthy 
Father  had  great  influence  over  his  parish,  and  there  was  a 
free-and-easy  way  with  him,  even  in  doing  the  most  solemn 
duties,  which  agreed  wonderfully  with  the  devil-may-care 
spirit  of  Paddy.  Stiff  and  starched  formality  in  any  way  is 


HANDY  ANDY. 


301 


repugnant  to  the  nature  of  Irishmen;  and  I believe  one  of 
the  surest  ways  of  converting  all  Ireland  from  the  Romish 
faith  would  be  found,  if  we  could  only  manage  to  have  her 
mass  celebrated  with  the  dry  coldness  of  the  Reformation. 
This  may  seem  ridiculous  at  first  sight,  and  I grant  it  is  a 
grotesque  way  of  viewing  the  subject,  but  yet  there  may  be 
truth  in  it;  and  to  consider  it  for  a moment  seriously,  look 
at  the  fact  that  the  north  of  Ireland  is  the  stronghold  of 
Protestantism,  and  that  the  north  is  the  least  Irish  portion 
of  the  island.  There  is  a strong  admixture  of  Scotch  there, 
and  all  who  know  the  country  will  admit  that  there  is 
nearly  as  much  difference  between  men  from  the  north  and 
south  of  Ireland  as  from  different  countries.  The  North- 
erns retain  much  of  the  cold  formality  and  unbending 
hardness  of  the  stranger-settlers  from  whom  they  are  de- 
scended, while  the  Southerns  exhibit  that  warm-hearted, 
lively,  and  poetical  temperament  for  which  the  country  is 
celebrated.  The  prevailing  national  characteristics  of  Ire- 
land are  not  to  be  found  in  the  north,  where  Protestantism 
flourishes;  they  are  to  be  found  in  the  south  and  west,  where 
it  has  never  taken  root.  And  though  it  has  never  seemed 
to  strike  theologians,  that  in  their  very  nature  some  people 
are  more  adapted  to  receive  one  faith  than  another,  yet  I 
believe  it  to  be  true,  and  perhaps  not  quite  unworthy  of 
consideration.  There  are  forms,  it  is  k*ue,  and  many  in 
the  Romish  church,  but  they  are  not  cold  forms,  but  at- 
tractive, rather,  to  a sensitive  people;  besides,  I believe 
those  very  forms,  when  observed  the  least  formally,  are  the 
most  influential  on  the  Irish;  and  perhaps  the  splendors  of 
a High  Mass  in  the  gorgeous  temple  of  the  Holy  City  would 
appeal  less  to  the  affections  of  an  Irish  peasant  than  the 
service  he  witnesses  in  some  half -thatched  ruin  by  a lone 
hill-side,  familiarly  hurried  through  by  a priest  who  has 
sharpened  his  appetite  by  a mountain  ride  of  some  fifteen 
miles,  and  is  saying  mass  (for  the  third  time  most  likely) 
before  breakfast,  which  consummation  of  his  morning^s  ex- 
ercise he  is  anxious  to  arrive  at. 

It  was  just  in  such  a chapel,  and  under  such  circum- 
stances, that  Father  Blake  was  celebrating  the  mass  at 
which  Andy  was  present,  and  after  which  he  hoped  to  ob- 
tain a word  of  advice  from  the  worthy  Father,  who  was 
much  more  sought  after  on  such  occasions  than  his  mo^e 
sedate  superior  who  presided  over  the  spiritual  welfare  of 


302 


HAHDY  AXDY. 


the  parish — and  whose  solemn  celebration  of  the  mass  was 
by  no  means  so  agreeable  as  the  lighter  service  of  Father 
Phil.  The  Rev.  Dominick  Dowling  was  austere  and  long- 
winded;  his  mass  had  an  oppressive  effect  on  his  congrega- 
tion, and  from  the  kneeling  multitude  might  be  seen  eyes 
fearfully  looking  up  from  under  bent  brows ; and  low  breath- 
ings and  subdued  groans  often  rose  above  the  silence  of  his 
congregation,  who  felt  like  sinners,  and  whose  imaginations 
were  filled  with  the  thoughts  of  Heaven’s  anger;  while  the 
good-humored  face  of  the  light-hearted  Father  Phil  pro- 
duced a corresponding  brightness  on  the  looks  of  his  hear- 
ers, who  turned  up  their  whole  faces  in  trustfulness  to  the 
mercy  of  that  Heaven  whose  propitiatory  offering  their 
pastor  was  making  for  them  in  cheerful  tones,  which  asso- 
ciated well  with  thoughts  of  pardon  and  salvation. 

Father  Dominick  poured  forth  liis  spiritual  influence 
like  a strong  dark  stream  that  swept  down  the  hearer — • 
hopelessly  struggling  to  keep  his  head  above  the  torrent, 
and  dreading  to  be  overwhelmed  at  the  next  word.  Father 
Phil’s  religion  bubbled  out  like  a mountain  rill — bright, 
musical,  and  refreshing.  Father  Dominick’s  people  had 
decidedly  need  of  cork  jackets;  Father  Phil’s  might  drink 
m&  be  refreshed. 

But  with  all  this  intrinsic  worth,  he  was,  at  the  same 
time,  a strange  man  in  exterior  manners;  for,  with  an 
abundance  of  real  piety,  he  had  an  abruptness  of  delivery 
and  a strange  way  of  mixing  up  an  occasional  remark  to 
his  congregation  in  the  midst  of  the  celebration  of  the  mass, 
which  might  well  startle  a stranger;  but  this  very  want  of 
formality  made  him  beloved  by  the  people,  and  they  would 
do  ten  times  as  much  for  Father  Phil  as  for  Father  Domi- 
nick. 

On  the  Sunday  in  question,  when  Andy  attended  the 
chapel.  Father  Phil  intended  delivering  an  address  to  his 
flock  from  the  altar,  urging  them  to  the  necessity  of  be- 
stirring themselves  in  the  repairs  of  the  chapel,  which  was 
in  a very  dilapidated  condition,  and  at  one  end  let  in  the 
rain  through  its  worn-out  thatch.  A subscription  was 
necessary;  and  to  raise  this  among  a very  impoverished 
people  was  no  easy  matter.  The  weather  happened  to  be 
amfavorable,  which  was  most  favorable  to  Father  Phil’s 
purpose,  for  the  rain  dropped  its  arguments  through  the 


HANDY  ANDY. 


303 


roof  upon  the  kneeling  people  below  in  the  most  convinc- 
ing manner;  and  as  they  endeavored  to  get  out  of  the  wet, 
they  pressed  round  the  altar  as  much  as  they  could,  for 
which  they  were  reproved  very  smartly  by  his  Bever- 
ence  in  the  very  midst  of  the  mass,  and  these  interruptions 
occurred  sometimes  in  the  most  serious  places,  producing  a 
ludicrous  effect,  of  which  the  worthy  Father  was  quite  un- 
conscious in  his  great  anxiety  to  make  the  people  repair  the 
chapel. 

A big  woman  was  elbowing  her  way  toward  the  rails  of 
the  altar,  and  Father  Phil,  casting  a sidelong  glance  at  her, 
sent  her  to  the  right-about,  while  he  interrupted  his  appeal 
to  Heaven  to  address  her  thus: 

“Agnus  Dei — you’d  better  jump  over  the  rails  of  the 
althar,  I think!  Go  along  out  o’  that,  there’s  plenty  o’ 
room  in  the  chapel  below  there.” 

Then  he  would  turn  to  the  altar,  and  proceed  with  the 
service,  till  turning  again  to  the  congregation  he  perceived 
some  fresh  offender. 

“ Orate,  fratres! — will  you  mind  what  I say  to  you  and 
go  along  out  of  that?  there’s  room  below  there.  Thrue 
for  you,  Mrs.  Finn— it’s  a shame  for  him  to  be  thramplin’ 
on  you.  Go  along.  Darby  Casy,  down  there,  and  kneel  in 
the  rain;  it’s  a pity  you  haven’t  a dacent  woman’s  cloak 
undher  you  indeed!- — Ovate,  fratres /” 

Then  would  the  service  proceed  again,  and  while  he 
prayed  in  silence  at  the  altar,  the  shuffling  of  feet  edging 
out  of  the  rain  would  disturb  him,  and  casting  a backward 
glance,  he  would  say: 

“ I hear  you  there— can’t  you  be  quiet  and  not  be  dis- 
turbin’ the  mass,  you  haythens?” 

Again  he  proceeded  in  silence,  till  the  crying  of  a child 
interrupted  him.  He  looked  round  quickly. 

“ You’d  better  kill  the  child,  I think,  tramplin’  on  hina, 
Lavery.  Go  out  o’  that— your  conduct  is  scandalous — 
Do-minus  vobiscum /” 

Again  he  turned  to  pray,  and  after  some  time  be  made 
an  interval  in  the  service  to  address  his  congregation  on 
the  subject  of  the  repairs,  and  produced  a paper  containing 
the  names  of  subscribers  to  that  pious  work  who  had 
already  contributed,  by  way  of  example  to  those  who  had 
not. 


304 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“Here  it  is,"  said  Father  Phil,  “here  it  is,  and  no 
denying  it — down  in  black  and  white;  but  if  they  who  give 
are  down  in  black,  how  much  blacker  are  those  who  have 
not  given  at  all!  but  I hope  they  will  be  ashamed  of  them- 
selves when  I howld  up  those  to  honor  who  have  con- 
tributed to  the  uphowlding  of  the  house  of  God.  And 
isn't  it  ashamed  o'  yourselves  you  ought  to  be,  to  leave  His 
house  in  such  a condition — and  doesn't  it  rain  a'most  every 
Sunday,  as  if  He  wished  to  remind  you  of  your  duty? 
aren't  you  wet  to  the  skin  a'most  every  Sunday?  Oh,  God 
is  good  to  you!  to  put  you  in  mind  of  your  duty,  giving 
you  such  bitther  cgulds  that  you  are  coughing  and  sneezin' 
every  Sunday  to  that  degree  that  you  can't  hear  the 
blessed  mass  for  a comfort  and  a benefit  to  you;  and  so 
you'll  go  on  sneezin'  until  you  put  a good  thatch  on  the 
place,  and  prevent  the  appearance  of  the  evidence  from 
Heaven  against  you  every  Sunday,  which  is  condemning 
you  before  your  faces,  and  behind  your  backs  too,  for 
don't  I see  this  minit  a strame  o'  wather  that  might  turn 
a mill  running  down  Micky  Mackavoy's  back,  between  the 
collar  of  his  coat  and  his  shirt?" 

Here  a laugh  ensued  at  the  expense  of  Micky  Mackavoy, 
who  certainly  2uas  under  a very  heavy  drip  from  the  im- 
perfect roof. 

“And  is  it  laughing  you  are,  you  haythens?"  said 
Father  Phil,  reproving  the  merriment  which  he  himself 
had  purposely  created,  that  he  might  reprove  it.  “ Laugh- 
ing is  it  you  are — at  your  backslidings  and  insensibility  to 
the  honor  of  God — laughing,  because  when  you  come  here 
to  be  saved  you  are  lost  intirely  with  the  wet;  and  how,  I 
ask  you,  are  my  words  of  comfort  to  enter  your  hearts, 
wheu  the  rain  is  pouring  down  your  backs  at  the  same 
time?  Sure  I have  no  chance  of  turning  your  hearts  while 
you  are  undher  rain  that  might  turn  a mill — but  once  put 
a good  roof  on  the  house,  and  I will  inundate  you  with 
piety!  May  be  it's  Father  Dominick  you  would  like  to  have 
coming  among  you,  who  would  grind  your  hearts  to 
powdher  with  his  heavy  words."  (Here  a low  murmur  of 
dissent  ran  through  the  throng.)  “Ha!  ha!  so  you 
wouldn't  like  it,  I see.  Very  well,  very  well — take  care 
then,  for  if  I find  you  insensible  to  my  moderate  reproofs, 
you  hard-hearted  haythens — you  malefacthors  and  cruel 
persecutors,  that  won't  put  your  hands  in  your  pockets, 


HANDY  ANDY. 


305 


because  your  mild  and  quiet  poor  fool  of  a pasthor  has  no 
tongue  in  his  head!  I say  your  mild,  quiet,  poor  fool  o f 
a pasthor  (for  I know  my  own  faults,  partly,  God  forgive 
me!),  and  I can't  spake  to  you  as  you  deserve,  you  hard- 
living  vagabones,  that  are  as  insensible  to  your  duties  as 
you  are  to  the  weather.  I wish  it  was  sugar  or  salt  you 
were  made  of,  and  then  the  rain  might  melt  you  if  1 
couldn't:  but  no — them  naked  rafters  grin  in  your  face  to 
no  purpose — you  chate  the  house  of  God;  but  take  care, 
may  be  you  won't  chate  the  divil  so  aisy  " — (here  there  was 
a sensation).  “Ha!  ha!  that  makes  you  open  your  ears, 
does  it?  More  shame  for  you;  you  ought  to  despise  that 
dirty  enemy  of  man,  and  depend  on  something  betther — 
but  I see  I must  call  you  to  a sense  of  your  situation  with 
the  bottomless  pit  under  you,  and  no  roof  over  you. 
Oh,  dear!  dear!  dear!  I'm  ashamed  of  you — troth,  if  I had 
time  and  sthraw  enough,  I'd  rather  thatch  the  place  myself 
than  lose  any  time  talking  to  you;  sure  the  place  is  more 
like  a stable  than  a chapel.  Oh,  think  of  that!  the  house 
of  God  to  be  like  a stable!  for  though  our  Redeemer,  in  his 
humility,  was  born  in  a stable,  that  is  no  reason  why  you 
are  to  keep  his  house  always  like  one. 

“ And  now  I will  read  you  the  list  of  subscribers,  and  it 
will  make  you  ashamed  when  you  hear  the  names  of  sever- 
al good  and  worthy  Protestants  in  the  parish,  and  out  of 
it,  too,  who  have  given  more  than  the  Catholics." 

He  then  proceeded  to  read  the  following  list,  which  he 
interlarded  copiously  with  observations  of  his  own;  making 
vivd  voce  marginal  notes  as  it  were  upon  the  subscribers, 
which  were  not  unfrequently  answered  by  the  persons  so 
noticed,  from  the  body  of  the  chapel,  and  laughter  was 
often  the  consequence  of  these  rejoinders,  which  Father 
Phil  never  permitted  to  pass  without  a retort.  Nor  must 
all  this  be  considered  in  the  least  irreverent.  A certain 
period  is  allowed  between  two  particular  portions  of  the 
mass,  when  the  priest  may  address  his  congregation  on  any 
public  matter;  an  approaching  pattern,  or  fair,  or  the  like; 
m which,  exhortations  to  propriety  of  conduct,  or  warnings 
against  faction  fights,  etc.,  are  his  themes.  Then  they 
only  listen  in  reverence.  But  when  a subscription  for  such 
an  object  as  that  already  mentioned  is  under  discussion, 
the  flock  consider  themselves  entitled  to  “ put  in  a word" 
in  case  of  necessity. 


306 


HANDY  ANDY. 


This  preliminary  hint  is  given  to  the  reader,  that  he  may 
better  enter  into  the  spirit  of  lather  Phil’s 

SUBSCRIPTION  LIST 

FOE  THE  EEPAIES  AND  ENLARGEMENT  OP  BALLYSLOUGH- 

GUTTHEEY  CHAPEL. 

Philip  Blake,  P.P. 
Micky  Hicky..  0 7 6 "He  might  as  well  have  made  ten  shil- 
lings: but  half  a loaf  is  better  than  no 
bread.” 

“ Plase  yonr  reverence,”  says  Mick,  from 
the  body  of  the  chapel,  " sure  seven  and 
sixpence  is  more  than  the  half  of  ten  shil- 
lings.” (A  laugh.) 

"Oh!  how  witty  yon  are.  Faith,  if  yon 
knew  your  duty  as  well  as  your  arithmetic, 
it  would  be  betther  for  you,  Micky.” 

Here  the  Father  turned  the  laugh 
against  Mick. 

BfliyBiiey..  . 0 8 4 “ Of  course  he  means  to  subscribe 

again.” 

John  D’vyer...  015  o “ That’s  something  like!  I’ll  be  bound 
he’s  only  keeping  back  the  odd  five  shil- 
lings for  a brush  full  o’  paint  for  the  al- 
thar;  it’s  as  black  as  a crow,  instead  of 
being  as  white  as  a dove.” 

He  then  hurried  over  rapidly  some 
small  subscribers  as  follows: 

Peter  Heff  era  an  0 1 8 

James  Murphy  0 2 6 
Mat  Donovan..  0 13 
Luke  Dannely..  0 3 0 
Jack  Quigly...  0 2 1 
Pat  Finnegan. . 0 2 2 
Edward  O’Con- 
nor, Jfiaq. £ 0 0 

“There's  for  yon!  Edward  O’Connor, 
Esq.,  a Protestant  in  the  parish — Two 
pounds!” 

“ Long  life  to  kirn,”  cried  a voice  in  the 
chapel. 

“ Amen,”  said  Father  Phil;  “Pm  not 
ashamed  to  be  clerk  to  so  good  a prayer/ 


HAHDY  AlTDY. 


807 


£s. 

Nicholas  Fagan  0 2 
Young  Nicholas 
Fagan 0 5 


Tim  Doyle 0 7 

Owny  Doyle...  1 0 


Simon  Leary..  0 2 
Bridget  Murphy  0 10 


Judy  SCoylan..  6 5 
Pat  Finnerty..  0 8 


de  “ Young  Nick  is  better  than  owld  Nick, 
o you  see.” 

The  congregation  honored  the  Father's 
demand  on  their  risibility. 

® “Well  done,  Owny  na  Coppal— you 
deserve  to  prosper,  for  you  make  good 
use  of  your  thrivings.” 

6 “You  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yourself, 
0 Simon:  a lone  widow  woman  gives  more 
than  you.” 

Simon  answered,  “I  have  a large  fam- 
ily, sir,  and  she  has  no  childhre.” 

u That's  not  her  fault,”  said  the  priest 
“ and  maybe  she'll  mend  o'  that  yet.  ” 
This  excited  much  merriment,  for  the 
widow  was  buxom,  and  had  recently  bur- 
ied an  old  husband,  and,  by  all  accounts, 
was  cocking  her  cap  at  a handsome  young 
fellow  in  the  parish. 

0 “ v ery  good,  Judy;  the  women  are  be- 

having like  gentlemen;  they'll  have  their 
reward  in  the  next  world.” 

4 “ I'm  not  sure  if  it  is  8s.  4d.  or  3s.  4d., 

for  the  figure  is  blotted— but  I believe  it 
is  8s.  4d.” 


“It  was  three  and  fourpince  I gave 
your  reverence,”  said  Pat  from  the  crowd. 

“Well,  Pat,  as  I said  eight  and  four- 
pence  you  must  not  let  me  go  back  o'  my 
word,  so  bring  me  five  shillings  next 
week.” 

“ Sure  you  wouldn't  have  me  pay  for  a 
blot,  sir?” 

“ Yes,  I would— that's  the  rule  of  back- 
gammon, you  know,  Pat.  When  I hit 
the  blot,  you  pay  for  it.” 

Here  his  reverence  turned  round,  as  if 
looking  for  some  one,  and  called  out, 
“Rafferty!  Rafferty!  Rafferty!  Where  are 
you,  Rafferty?” 

An  old  gray-headed  man  appeared, 


303 


HANDY  ANDY. 


£ s.  d.  bearing  a large  plate,  and  Father  Phi) 
continued — 

“ There  now,  be  active — Pm  sending 
him  among  yon,  good  people,  and  such  as 
can  not  give  as  much  as  you  would  like 
to  be  read  before  your  neighbors,  give 
what  little  you  can  toward  the  repairs, 
and  I will  continue  to  read  out  the  names 
by  way  of  encouragement  to  you,  and  the 
next  name  I see  is  that  of  Squire  Egan. 
Long  life  to  him! 

Squire  Egan.  .5  0 0 « Squire  Egan — five  pounds— listen  to 

that — five  pounds — a Protestant  in  the 
parish — five  pounds!  Faith,  the  Prot- 
estants will  make  you  ashamed  of  your- 
selves, if  we  don’t  take  care. 

Mr*.  Flatten  3 o o “ Kot  her  own  parish,  either— a land 

lady. 

jam  os  “And  here  I must  remark  that  the 

SJJKI...  ioo  people  of  Eoundtown  have  not  been  back- 
ward in  coming  forward  on  this  occasion. 
I have  a long  list  from  Eoundtown — I 
will  read  it  separate.”  He  then  proceeded 
at  a great  pace,  jumbling  the  town  and 
the  pounds  and  the  people  in  a most 
extraordinary  manner;  “ James  Milligan 
-of  Eoundtown,  one  pound;  Darby  Daly  of 
Eoundtown,  one  pound;  SamFinnigan  of 
Eoundtown,  one  pound;  James  Casey  of 
Eoundpound,  one  town;  Kit  Dwyer  of 
Townpound,  one  round — pound  I mane; 
Pat  Eoundpound— Pounden,  I mane — Pat 
Pounden  a pound  of  Poundtown  also — 
there’s  an  example  for  you! — but  what 
are  you  about,  Eafferty?  I don’t  like  the 
sound  of  that  plate  of  yours ; — you  are 
not  a good  gleaner— go  up  first  into  the 
gallery  there,  where  I see  so  many  good- 
looking  bonnets — I suppose  they  will  give 
something  to  keep  their  bonnets  out  of 
the  rain,  for  the  wet  will  be  into  the 
gallery  next  Sunday  if  they  don’t.  I think 
that  is  Kitty  Crow  I see,  getting  her  bit 


HANDY  ANDY. 


309 


£ 8.  d.  0f  silver  ready;  them  ribbons  of  yours  cost 
a trifle,  Kitty.  Well,  good  Christians, 
here  is  more  of  the  subscription  for  you. 
iiatthewLoveiy  o 8 6 “ He  doesn't  belong  to  Roundtown — 

Roundtown  will  be  renowned  in  future 
ages  for  the  support  of  the  Church,  Mark 
my  words — Roundtown  will  prosper  from 
this  day  out — Roundtown  will  be  a rising 
place. 

MarkHennessy  o 2 6 “ One  would  think  they  all  agreed  to 

John  Dooim.V.  026  give  two  and  sixpence  apiece.  And  look 
at  their  names — Matthew,  Mark,  Luke, 
and  John,  the  names  of  the  Blessed 
Evangelists,  and  only  ten  shillings  among 
them!  Oh,  they  are  apostles  not  worthy 
of  the  name — we'll  call  them  the  Poor 
Apostles  from  this  out"  (here  a low 
laugh  ran  through  the  chapel) — “ Do  you 
hear  that,  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and 
John?  Faith!  I can  tell  you  that  name 
will  stick  to  you."  (Here  the  laugh  was 
louder.) 

A voice,  when  the  laugh  subsided,  ex- 
claimed, “ I'll  make  it  ten  shillin's,  your 
reverence. " 

“ Who's  that?"  said  Father  Phil. 

“Hennessy,  your  reverence." 

“ Very  well,  Mark.  I suppose  Matthew, 
Luke,  and  John  will  follow  your  exam- 
ple?" 

j “We  will,  your  reverence." 

“Ah!  I thought  you  made  a mistake; 
well  call  you  now  the  Faithful  Apostles 
— and  I think  the  change  in  the  name  is 
betther  than  seven  and  sixpence  apiece  to 
you. 

“ I see  you  in  the  gallery  there,  Raffer- 
ty. What  do  you  pass  that  well-dressed 
woman  for? — thry  back — ha! — see  that — 
she  had  her  money  ready  if  you  only 
asked  for  it — don't  go  by  that  other 
woman  there — oh,  oh! — So  you  won't 
give  anything,  ma'am?  You  ought  to  be 


-BIO 


UA^DY  AHDt. 


£s‘ d*  ashamed  of  yourself.  There  is  a woman 
with  an  elegant  sthraw  bonnet,  and  she 
won't  give  a farthing.  W ell,  now — af ther 
that — remember — I give  it  from  the  al- 
thar,  that  from  this  day  out  sthraw  bon - 
nets  pay  fi’ penny  pieces. 

rhomas  Durfy,  “It's" not  his  parish  and  he's  a brave 

ii^sq 1 U U A 

gentleman. 

Miss  Fanny  Daw-  “.4  Protestant  out  of  the  parish,  and 

son 0 a sweet  young  lady,  God  bless  her!  Oh, 

faith,  the  Protestants  are  shaming  you! ! ! 

Dennis  Fannin,  o 7 6 “Very  good,  indeed,  fbr  a working 
mason. 

Jemmy Eiely..  0 5 0 “Not  bad,  for  a hedge-carpenter.” 

“I  gave  you  ten,  plaze  your  rever- 
ence,” shouted  Jemmy,  “and  by  the 
same  token,  you  may  remember  it  was  on 
the  Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Vargin,  sir,  I 
gave  you  the  second  five  shillings.” 

“ So  you  did.  Jemmy,”  cried  Father 
Phil — “ I put  a little  cross  before  it,  to 
remind  me  of  it;  but  I was  in  a hurry  to 
make  a sick-call  when  you  gave  it  to  me, 
and  forgot  it  afther:  and  indeed  myself 
doesn't  know  what  I did  with  that  same 
five  shillings.” 

Here  a pallid  woman,  who  was  kneel- 
ing near  the  rails  of  the  altar,  uttered 
an  impassioned  blessing,  and  exclaimed, 
“ Oh,  that  was  the  very  five  shillings,  I'm 
sure,  you  gave  to  me  that  very  day,  to  buy 
some  little  comforts  for  my  poor  husband, 
who  was  dying  in  the  fever!”  and  the 
poor  woman  burst  into  loud  sobs  as  she 
spoke. 

A deep  thrill  of  emotion  ran  through  the  flock  as  this 
accidental  proof  of  their  poor  pastor's  beneficence  burst 
upon  them;  and  as  an  affectionate  murmur  began  to  rise 
above  the  silence  which  that  emotion  produced,  the  burly 
Father  Philip  blushed  like  a girl  at  this  publication  of  his 
charity,  and  even  at  the  foot  of  that  altar  where  he  stood, 
felt  something  like  shame  at  being  discovered  in  the  com- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


311 


mission  of  that  virtue  so  highly  commended  by  the  Holy 
One  to  whose  worship  the  altar  was  raised.  He  uttered  a 
hasty  Whisht — whisht!”  and  waved  with  his  outstretched 
hands  his  flock  into  silence. 

In  an  instant  one  of  those  sudden  changes  common  to  an 
Irish  assembly,  and  scarcely  credible  to  a stranger,  took 
place.  The  multitude  was  hushed — the  grotesque  of  the 
subscription  list  had  passed  away  and  was  forgotten,  and 
that  same  man  and  that  same  multitude  stood  in  altered 
relations — they  were  again  a reverent  flock,  and  he  once 
more  a solemn  pastor;  the  natural  play  of  his  nation’s 
mirthful  sarcasm  was  absorbed  in  a moment  in  the  sacred- 
ness of  his  office:  and  with  a solemnity  befitting  the  highest 
occasion,  he  placed  his  hands  together  before  his  breast,  and 
raising  his  eyes  to  Heaven  he  poured  forth  his  sweet  voice, 
with  a tone  of  the  deepest  devotion,  in  that  reverential  call 
to  prayer,  “ Orate  fratres.  ” 

The  sound  of  a multitude  gently  kneeling  down  followed, 
like  the  soft  breaking  of  a quiet  sea  on  a sandy  beach;  and 
when  Father  Philip  turned  to  the  altar  to  pray,  his  pent- 
up  feelings  found  vent  in  tears;  and  while  he  prayed,  he 
wept. 

I believe  such  scenes  as  this  are  not  of  unfrequent  oc- 
currence in  Ireland;  that  country  so  long-suffering,  so 
much  maligned  and  so  little  understood. 

Suppose  the  foregoing  scene  to  have  been  only  described 
antecedent  to  the  woman  in  the  outbreak  of  her  gratitude 
revealing  the  priest’s  charity,  from  which  he  recoiled-^ 
suppose  the  mirthfulness  of  the  incidents  arising  from 
reading  the  subscription  list — a mirthfulness  bordering  on 
the  ludicrous — to  have  been  recorded,  and  nothing  more, 
a stranger  would  be  inclined  to  believe,  and  pardonable  in 
the  belief,  that  the  Irish  and  their  priesthood  were  rather 
prone  to  be  irreverent;  but  observe,  under  this  exterior, 
the  deep  sources  of  feeling  that  lie  hidden  and  wait  but  the 
Wand  of  divination  to  be  revealed.  In  a thousand  similar 
Ways  are  the  actions  and  the  motives  of  the  Irish  un- 
derstood by  those  who  are  careless  of  them;  or  worse,  mis- 
represented by  those  whose  interest,  and  too  often  business , 
it  is  to  malign  them. 

Father  Phil  could  proceed  no  further  with  the  reading  of 
the  subscription  list,  but  finished  the  office  of  the  mass 
with  unusual  solemnity^  Butjf  the  incident  just  recorded 


HANDY  ANDY. 


312 

abridged  his  address,  and  the  publication  of  donors*  names 
by  way  of  stimulus  to  the  less  active,  it  produced  a great 
effect  on  those  who  had  but  smaller  donations  to  drop  in 
the  plate;  and  the  gray-headed  collector,  who  could  have 
numbered  the  scanty  coin  before  the  bereaved  widow  had 
revealed  the  pastor's  charity,  had  to  struggle  his  way  after- 
ward through  the  eagerly  outstretched  hands  that  shower- 
ed their  hard-earned  pence  upon  the  plate,  which  was  borne 
back  to  the  altar  heaped  with  contributions,  heaped  as  it 
had  not  been  seen  for  many  a day.  The  studied  excitement 
of  their  pride  and  their  shame — and  both  are  active  agents 
in  the  Irish  nature — was  less  successful  than  the  accidental 
appeal  to  their  affections. 

Oh ! rulers  of  Ireland,  why  have  you  not  sooner  learned 
to  lead  that  people  by  love,  whom  all  your  severity  has 
been  unable  to  drive  ?* 

When  the  mass  was  over,  Andy  waited  at  the  door  of  the 
chapel  to  catch  “his  riverence  " coming  out,  and  obtain 
his  advice  about  what  he  overheard  from  Larry  Hogan; 
and  Father  Phil  was  accordingly  accosted  by  Andy  just  as 
he  was  going  to  get  into  his  saddle  to  ride  over  to  breakfast 
with  one  of  the  neighboring  farmers,  who  was  holding  the 
priest's  stirrup  at  the  moment.  The  extreme  urgency  of 
Andy's  manner,  as  he  pressed  up  to  the  pastor's  side,  made 
the  latter  pause  and  inquire  what  he  wanted. 

“I  want  to  get  some  advice  from  your  riverence,"  said 
Andy. 

“ Faith,  then,  the  advice  I give  you  is  never  to  stop  a 
hungry  man  when  he  is  going  to  refresh  himself,"  said 
Father  Phil,  who  had  quite  recovered  his  usual  cheerful- 
ness,  and  threw  his  leg  over  his  little  gray  hack  as  he  spoke. 
“ How  could  you  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  expect  me  to 
stop  here  listening  to  your  case,  and  giving  you  advice  in- 
deed, when  I have  said  three  massesf  this  morning,  and 
rode  three  miles;  how  could  you  be  so  unreasonable,  I say?" 

“ I ax  your  riverence's  pardon,"  said  Andy;  “ I wouldn't 
have  taken  the  liberty,  only  the  thing  is  mighty  particular 
intirely." 

* When  this  passage  was  written  Ireland  was  disturbed  (as  she 
has  too  often  been)  by  special  parliamentary  provocation: — the 
vexatious  vigilance  of  legislative  lynxes — the  peevishness  of  paltry 
persecutors. 

\ The  office  of  the  r»ass  must  be  performed  fasting. 


&ANDY  ANDY. 


313 


“ Well,  I tell  you  again,  never  ask  a hungry  man's  advice; 
for  he  is  likely  to  cut  his  advice  on  the  patthern  of  his 
stomach,  and  it's  empty  advice  you'll  get.  Did  you  never 
hear  that  a 6 hungry  stomach  has  no  ears '?" 

The  farmer  who  was  to  have  the  honor  of  the  priest's 
company  to  breakfast  exhibited  rather  more  impatience 
than  the  good-humored  Father  Phil,  and  reproved  Andy 
for  his  conduct. 

“ But  it's  so  particular,"  said  Andy. 

€i ‘ I wondher  you  would  dar'  to  stop  his  riverence,  and  he 
black  fastin'.  Go  'long  wid  you!" 

“ Come  over  to  my  house  in  the  course  of  the  week,  and 
speak  to  me,"  said  Father  Phil,  riding  away. 

Andy  still  persevered,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  ab- 
sence of  the  farmer,  who  was  mounting  his  own  nag  at  the 
moment,  said  the  matter  of  which  he  wished  to  speak  in- 
volved the  interests  of  Squire  Egan,  or  he  would  not  “ make 
so  bowld." 

This  altered  the  matter;  and  Father  Phil  desired  Andy 
to  follow  him  to  the  farm-house  of  John  Dwyer,  where  he 
would  speak  to  him  after  he  had  breakfasted. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

John  Dwyek's  house  was  a scene  of  activity  that  day, 
for  not  only  was  the  priest  to  breakfast  there — always  an 
affair  of  honor — but  a grand  dinner  was  also  preparing  on 
a large  scale;  for  a wedding-feast  was  to  be  held  in  the 
house,  in  honor  of  Matty  Dwyer's  nuptials,  which  were  to 
be  celebrated  that  day  with  a neighboring  young  farmer, 
rather  well-to-do  in  the  world.  The  match  had  been  on 
and  off  for  some  time,  for  John  Dwyer  was  what  is  commonly 
called  a “ close-fisted  fellow,"  and  his  would-be  son-in-law 
could  not  bring  him  to  what  he  considered  proper  terms, 
and  though  Matty  liked  young  Casey,  and  he  was  fond  of 
her,  they  both  agreed  not  to  let  old  Jack  Dwyer  have  the 
best  of  the  bargain  in  portioning  off  his  daughter,  who, 
having  a spice  of  her  father  in  her,  was  just  as  fond  of 
number  one  as  old  Jack  himself.  And  here  it  is  worthy  of 
remark,  that,  though  the  Irish  are  so  prone  in  general  to 
early  and  improvident  marriages,  no  people  are  closer  in 
their  nuptial  barter,  when  they  are  in  a condition  to  make 


314 


X . ; . i i • x.  i $ 

marriage  a profitable  contract.  Repeated  meetings  between 
the  elders  of  families  take  place,,  and  acute  arguments  en- 
sue, properly  to  equalize  the  worldly  goods  to  be  given  on 
both  sides.  Pots  and  pans  are  balanced  against  pails  and 
churns,  cows  against  horses,  a slip  of  bog  against  a gravel- 
pit,  or  a patch  of  meadow  against  a pit  of  quarry;  a little 
lime-kiln  sometimes  burns  stronger  than  the  flame  of  Cupid 
— the  doves  of  Venus  herself  are  but  crows  in  comparison 
with  a good  flock  of  geese— and  a love-sick  sigh  less  touch- 
ing than  the  healthy  grunt  of  a good  pig;  indeed  the  last- 
named  gentleman  is  a most  useful  agent  in  this  traffic,  for 
when  matters  are  nearly  poised,  the  balance  is  often  ad- 
justed by  a grunter  or  two  thrown  into  either  scale.  While 
matters  are  thus  in  a state  of  debate,  quarrels  sometimes 
occur  between  the  lovers;  the  gentleman's  caution  some- 
times takes  alarm,  and  more  frequently  the  lady's  pride  is 
aroused  at  the  two  obvious  preference  given  to  worldly  gain 
over  heavenly  beauty;  Cupid  shies  at  Mammon,  and  Hymen 
is  upset  and  left  in  the  mire. 

I remember  hearing  of  an  instance  of  this  nature,  when 
the  lady  gave  her  ci-devant  lover  an  ingenious  reproof, 
after  they  had  been  separated  some  time,  when  a marriage^ 
bargain  was  broken  off,  because  the  lover  could  not  obtain 
from  the  girl's  father  a certain  brown  filly  as  part  of  her 
dowry.  The  damsel,  after  the  lapse  of  some  weeks,  met 
her  swain  at  a neighboring  fair,  and  the  flame  of  love  still 
smoldering  in  his  heart  was  reillumined  by  the  sight  of  his 
charmer,  who,  on  the  contrary,  had  become  quite  disgusted 
with  Mm  for  his  too  obvious  preference  of  profit  to  true 
affection.  He  addressed  her  softly  in  a tent,  and  asked  her 
to  dance,  but  was  most  astonished  at  her  returning  him  a 
look  of  vacant  wonder,  which  tacitly  implied,  “ Who  are 
you  Vy  as  plain  as  looks  could  speak. 

“ Arrah,  Mary,"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

“ Sir  ! ! I — answered  Mary,  with  what  heroines  call  “in- 
effable disdain." 

“ Why  one  would  think  you  didn't  know  me!" 

“ If  I ever  had  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance,  sir,"  an- 
swered Mary,  “ I forget  you  entirely." 

“Forget  me,  Mary? — arrah  be  aisy — is  it  to  forget  the 
man  that  wras  courtin'  and  in  love  with  you?" 

“You're  under  a mistake,  young  man,"  said  Mary,  with 
a curl  of  her  rosy  lip,  which  displayed  the  pearly  teeth  to 


fTANDY  AtfDT. 


315 


whose  beauty  her  womans  nature  rejoiced  that  the  recreant 
lover  was  not  insensible — “ Yoffire  under  a mistake,  young 
man,”  and  her  heightened  color  made  her  eye  flash  more 
brightly  as  she  spoke — “yoffire  quite  under  a mistake — no 
one  was  not  ever  in  love  with  me  ;”  and  she  laid  signal  em- 
phasis on  the  word.  “ There  was  a dirty  mane  blackguard, 
indeed,  once  in  love  with  my  father’s  brown  filly,  but  I 
forget  him  entirely.” 

Mary  tossed  her  head  proudly  as  she  spoke,  and  her  filly- 
fancying  admirer,  reeling  under  the  reproof  she  inflicted, 
sneaked  from  the  tent,  while  Mary  stood  up  and  danced 
with  a more  open-hearted  lover,  whose  earnest  eye  could 
see  more  charms  in  one  lovely  woman  than  all  the  horses 
of  Arabia. 

But  no  such  result  as  this  was  likely  to  take  place  in 
Matty  Dwyer^s  case;  she  and  her  lover  agreed  with  one 
another  on  the  settlement  to  be  made,  and  old  Jack  was 
not  to  be  allowed  an  inch  over  what  was  considered  an  even 
bargain.  At  length  all  matters  were  agreed  upon,  the 
wedding-day  fixed,  and  the  guests  invited;  yet  still  both 
parties  were  not  satisfied,  but  young  Casey  thought  he 
should  be  put  into  absolute  possession  of  a certain  little 
farm  and  cottage,  and  have  the  lease  looked  over  to  see 
all  was  right  (for  Jack  Dwyer  was  considered  rather  slip- 
pery), while  old  Jack  thought  it  time  enough  to  give  him 
possession  and  the  lease  and  his  daughter  altogether. 

However,  matters  had  gone  so  far  that,  as  the  reader  has 
seen,  the  wedding-feast  was  prepared,  the  guests  invited, 
and  Father  Phil  on  the  spot  to  help  James  and  Matty  (in 
the  facetious  parlance  of  Paddy)  to  “ tie  with  their  tongues 
what  they  could  not  undo  with  their  teeth.  ” 

When  the  priest  had  done  breakfast,  the  arrival  of  Andy 
was  announced  to  him,  and  Andy  was  admitted  to  a pri- 
vate audience  with  Father  Phil,  the  particulars  of  which 
must  not  bo  disclosed;  for,  in  short,  Andy  made  a reg- 
ular confession  before  the  Father,  and,  we  know,  confes- 
sions must  be  held  sacred;  but  we  may  say  that  Andy  con- 
fided the  whole  post-office  affair  to  the  pastor — told  him 
how  Harry  Logan  had  contrived  to  worm  that  affair  out  of 
him,  and  by  his  devilish  artifice  had,  as  Andy  feared,  con- 
trived to  implicate  Squire  Egan  in  the  transaction,  and,  by 
threatening  a disclosure,  got  the  worthy  squire  into  his 
Villainous  power*  Andy,  under  the  solemn  queries  of  the 


hahdv  ahd^. 


ai6 

priest,  positively  denied  having  said  one  word  to  Hogan  to 
criminate  the  Squire,  and  that  Hogan  could  only  infer  the 
Squire's  guilt;  upon  which  Father  Phil,  having  satisfied 
himself,  told  Andy  to  make  his  mind  easy,  for  that  he 
would  secure  the  Squire  from  any  harm,  and  he  moreover 
praised  Andy  for  the  fidelity  he  displayed  to  the  interests 
of  his  old  master,  and  declared  he  was  so  pleased  with  him, 
that  he  would  desire  Jack  Dwyer  to  ask  him  to  dinner. 
“ And  that  will  be  no  blind  nut,  let  me  tell  you/'  said 
Father  Phil — “ a wedding-dinner,  you  lucky  dog — ‘lash- 
ings* and  lavings,'  and  no  end  of  dancing  afther!" 

Andy  was  accordingly  bidden  to  the  bridal  feast,  to  which 
the  guests  began  already  to  gather  thick  and  fast.  They 
strolled  about  the  field  before  the  house,  basked  in  groups 
in  the  sunshine,  or  lay  in  the  shade  under  the  hedges, 
where  hints  of  future  marriages  were  given  to  many  a 
pretty  girl,  and  to  nudges  and  pinches  were  returned  small 
screams  suggestive  of  additional  assault — and  inviting  de- 
nials of  “Indeed  I won't,"  and  that  crowning  provocative 
to  riotous  conduct,  “Behave  yourself." 

In  the  meantime,  the  barn  was  laid  out  with  long  planks, 
supported  on  barrels  or  big  stones,  which  planks,  when 
covered  with  clean  cloths,  made  a goodly  board,  that  soon 
began  to  be  covered  with  ample  wooden  dishes  of  corned 
beef,  roasted  geese,  boiled  chickens  and  bacon,  and  inter- 
mediate stacks  of  cabbage  and  huge  bowls  of  potatoes,  all 
sending  up  their  wreaths  of  smoke  to  the  rafters  of  the 
barn,  soon  to  become  hotter  from  the  crowd  of  guests,  who, 
when  the  word  was  given,  rushed  to  the  onslaught  with 
right  good  will. 

The  dinner  was  later  than  the  hour  named,  and  the  de- 
lay arose  from  the  absence  of  one  who,  of  all  others,  ought 
to  have  been  present,  namely,  the  bridegroom.  But  James 
Casey  was  missing,  and  Jack  Dwyer  had  been  closeted 
from  time  to  time  with  several  long-headed  graybeards,  can- 
vassing the  occurrence,  and  wandering  at  the  default  on 
the  bridegroom's  part.  The  person  who  might  have  been 
supposed  to  bear  this  default  the  worst  supported  it  better 
than  any  one.  Matty  was  all  life  and  spirits,  and  helped 
in  making  the  feast  ready,  as  if  nothing  wrong  had  hap- 
pened; and  she  backed  Father  Phil's  argument  to  sit  down 

* Overflowing  abundance,  and  plenty  left  after. 


HANDY  ANDY, 


317 


to  dinner  at  once; — “ that  if  James  Casey  was  not  there, 
that  was  no  reason  dinner  should  be  spoiled,  he'd  be  there 
soon  enough;  besides,  if  he  didn't  arrive  in  time,  it  was 
better  he  should  have  good  meat  cold,  than  everybody  have 
hot  meat  spoiled:  the  ducks  would  be  done  to  cindhers, 
the  beef  boiled  to  rags,  and  the  chicken  be  all  in  jom- 
methry." 

So  down  they  sat  to  dinner:  its  heat,  its  mirth,  its  clatter, 
and  its  good  cheer  we  will  not  attempt  to  describe;  suffice 
it  to  say,  the  viands  were  good,  the  guests  hungry,  and  the 
drink  unexceptionable;  and  Father  Phil,  no  bad  judge  of 
such  matters,  declared  he  never  pronounced  grace  over  a 
better  spread.  But  still,  in  the  midst  of  the  good  cheer, 
neighbors  (the  women  particularly)  would  suggest  to  each 
other  the  “wondher^  where  the  bridegroom  could  be; 
and  even  within  ear-shot  of  the  bride-elect,  the  low-voiced 
whisper  ran,  of  “ Where  in  the  world  is  James  Casey ?" 

Still  the  bride  kept  up  her  smiles,  and  cheerfully  returned 
the  healths  that  were  drunk  to  her;  but  old  Jack  was  not 
unmoved;  a cloud  hung  on  his  brow,  which  grew  darker 
and  darker  as  the  hour  advanced,  and  the  bridegroom  yet 
tarried.  The  board  was  cleared  of  the  eatables,  and  the 
copious  jugs  of  punch  going  their  round;  but  the  usual 
toast  of  the  united  healths  of  the  happy  pair  could  not  be 
given,  for  one  of  them  was  absent.  Father  Phil  hardly 
knew  what  to  do;  for  even  his  overflowing  cheerfulness 
began  to  forsake  him,  and  a certain  air  of  embarrassment 
began  to  pervade  the  whole  assembly,  till  Jack  Dwyer 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  and,  standing  up,  he  thus  addressed 
the  company: 

“ Friends  and  neighbors,  you  see  the  disgrace  that's  put 
on  me  and  my  child.  " 

A murmur  of  “ No,  no!"  ran  round  the  board. 

“I  say,  yis." 

“ He'll  come  yet,  sir,"  said  a voice. 

“ No,  he  won't,"  said  Jack,  “ I see  he  won't — I know  he 
won't.  He  wanted  to  have  everything  all  his  own  way,  and 
he  thinks  to  disgrace  me  in  doing  what  he  likes,  but  he 
sh'an't;"  and  he  struck  the  table  fiercely  as  he  spoke;  for 
Jack,  when  once  his  blood  was  up,  was  a man  of  desparate 
determination.  “ He's  a greedy  chap,  the  same  James  Casey, 
and  he  loves  his  bargain  betther  than  he  loves  you,  Matty, 
fio  don't  look  glum  about  what  I'm  saying:  I say  he'a 


318 


HANDY  ANDY. 


greedy:  he's  just  the  fellow  that,,  if  you  gave  him  the  roof 
off  your  house,  would  ax  you  for  the  rails  before  your  door; 
and  he  goes  back  of  his  bargain  now,  bekase  I would  not 
let  him  have  it  all  his  own  way,  and  puts  the  disgrace  on 
me,  thinkin’  I’ll  give  in  to  him,  through  that  same;  but  I 
won’t  And  I tell  you  what  it  is,  friends  and  neighbors; 
here’3  the  lease  of  the  three-cornered  field  below  there,” 
and  he  held  up  a parchment  as  he  spoke,  “and  a snug 
cottage  on  it,  and  it’s  all  ready  for  the  girl  to  walk  into 
with  the  man  that  will  have  her;  and  if  there’s  a man 
among  you  here  that’s  willing,  let  him  say  the  word  now, 
and  I’ll  give  her  to  him!” 

The  girl  could  not  resist  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  which 
her  father  hushed  by  a word  and  look  so  peremptory,  that 
she  saw  remonstrance  was  in  vain,  and  a silence  of  some 
moments  ensued;  for  it  was  rather  startling,  this  immedi- 
ate offer  of  a girl  who  had  been  so  strangely  slighted,  and 
the  men  were  not  quite  prepared  to  make  advances,  until 
they  knew  something  more  of  the  why  and  wherefore  of  her 
sweetheart’s  desertion. 

“Are  yiz  all  dumb?”  exclaimed  Jack,  in  surprise. 
“ Faix,  it’s  not  every  day  a snug  little  field  and  cottage  and 
a good-looking  girl  falls  in  a man’s  way.  I say  again.  I’ll 
give  her  and  the  lase  to  the  man  that  will  say  the  word.” 

Still  no  one  spoke,  and  Andy  began  to  think  they  were 
using  Jack  Dwyer  and  his  daughter  very  ill,  but  what  busi- 
ness had  he  to  think  of  offering  himself,  “a  poor  devil  like 
him?”  But,  the  silence  still  continuing,  Andy  took  heart 
of  grace;  and  as  the  profit  and  pleasure  of  a snug  match 
and  a handsome  wife  flashed  upon  him,  he  got  up  and  said, 
“ Would  I do,  sir?” 

Every  one  was  taken  by  surprise,  even  old  Jack  himself; 
and  Matty  could  not  suppress  a faint  exclamation,  which 
every  one  but  Andy  understood  to  mean  “ she  didn’t  like 
it  at  all,”  but  which  Andy  interpreted  quite  the  other  way, 
and  he  grinned  his  loutish  admiration  of  Matty,  who  turned 
away  her  head  from  him  in  sheer  distaste,  which  action 
Andy  took  for  mere  coyness. 

Jack  was  in  a dilemma,  for  Andy  was  just  the  last  man 
he  would  have  chosen  as  a husband  for  his  daughter;  but 
what  could  he  do?  he  was  taken  at  his  word,  and  even  at 
the  worst  he  was  determined  that  some  one  should  marry 
the  girl  out  of  hand,  and  show  Casey  the  “disgrace  should 


HAKDY  ANDY. 


319 


not  be  put  on  him;”  but,  anxious  to  have  another  chance, 
he  stammered  something  about  the  fairness  of  “letting the 
girl  choose,”  and  that  “ some  one  else  might  wish  to  spake;” 
but  the  end  of  all  was,  that  no  one  rose  to  rival  Andy,  and 
Father  Phil  bore  witness  to  the  satisfaction  he  had  that  day 
in  finding  so  much  uprightness  and  fidelity  in  “the  boy;” 
that  he  had  raised  his  character  much  in  his  estimation  by 
his  conduct  that  day;  and  if  he  was  a little  giddy  betimes, 
there  was  nothing  like  a wife  to  steady  him;  and  if  he  was 
rather  poor,  sure  Jack  Dwyer  could  mend  that. 

“Then  come  up  here,”  says  Jack;  and  Andy  left  his 
place  at  the  very  end  of  the  board  and  marched  up  to  the 
head,  amidst  clapping  of  hands  and  thumping  of  the  table, 
and  laughing  and  shouting. 

“Silence!”  cried  Father  Phil,  “this  is  no  laughing  mat- 
ther,  but  a serious  engagement — and,  John  Dwyer,  I tell 
you — and  you  Andy  Rooney,  that  girl  must  not  be  mar- 
ried against  her  own  free-will;  but  if  she  has  no  objec- 
tion, well  and  good.” 

“ My  will  is  her  pleasure,  I know,”  said  Jack  resolutely. 

To  the  surprise  of  every  one,  Matty  said,  “ Oh,  Fll  take 
the  boy  with  all  my  heart!” 

Handy  Andy  threw  his  arms  round  her  neck  and  gave 
her  a most  vigorous  salute  which  came  smacking  off,  and. 
thereupon  arose  a hilarious  shout  which  made  the  old 
rafters  of  the  barn  ring  again. 

“There^s  the  lase  for  you,”  said  Jack,  handing  the 
parchment  to  Andy,  who  was  now  installed  in  the  place 
of  honor  beside  the  bride-elect  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  the  punch  circulated  rapidly  in  filling  to  the  double 
toast  of  health,  happiness,  and  prosperity  to  the  “happy 

{)air;”  and  after  some  few  more  circuits  of  the  enlivening 
iquor  had  been  performed,  the  women  retired  to  the 
dwelling-house,  whose  sanded  parlor  was  put  in  immediate 
readiness  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptial  knot  between 
Matty  and  the  adventurous  Andy. 

In  half  an  hour  the  ceremony  was  performed,  and  the 
rites  and  blessings  of  the  Church  dispensed  between  two 
people,  who,  an  hour  before,  had  never  looked  on  each 
other  with  thoughts  of  matrimony. 

Under  such  circumstances  it  was  wonderful  with  what 
lightness  of  spirit  Matty  went  through  the  honors  conse- 
quent on  a .peasant  bridal  in  Ireland:  these,  it  is  needless 


330 


HANDY  ANDY. 


to  detail;  our  limits  would  not  permit;  but  suffice  it  to 
say,  that  a rattling  country-dance  was  led  off  by  Andy 
and  Matty  in  the  barn,  intermediate  jigs  were  indulged  in 
by  the  “ picked  dancers”  of  the  parish,  while  the  country 
dancers  were  resting  and  making  love  (if  making  love  can 
be  called  rest)  in  the  corners,  and  that  the  pipers  and 
punch-makers  had  quite  enough  to  do  until  the  night  was 
far  spent,  and  it  was  considered  time  for  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  to  be  escorted  by  a chosen  party  of  friends  to 
the  little  cottage  which  was  to  be  their  future  home.  The 
pipers  stood  at  the  threshold  of  Jack  Dwyer,  and  his 
daughter  departed  from  under  the  44  roof -tree  ” to  the  tune 
of  “ Joy  be  with  you;”  and  then  the  lilters,  heading  the 
body-guard  of  the  bride,  plied  drone  and  chanter  right 
merrily  until  she  had  entered  her  new  home,  thanked  her 
old  friends  (who  did  all  the  established  civilities,  and 
cracked  all  the  usual  jokes  attendant  on  the  occasion);  and 
Andy  bolted  the  door  of  the  snug  cottage  of  which  he  had 
so  suddenly  become  master,  and  placed  a seat  for  the  bride 
beside  the  fire,  requesting  “ Miss  Dwyer  ” to  sit  down — 
for  Andy  could  not  bring  himself  to  call  her  44  Matty  ” yet 
— and  found  himself  in  an  awkward  position  in  being 
“ lord  and  master  ” of  a girl  he  considered  so  far  above 
him  a few  hours  before;  Matty  sat  quiet,  and  looked  at 
the  fire. 

“ It’s  very  quare,  isn’t  it?”  says  Andy  with  a grin,  look- 
ing at  her  tenderly,  and  twiddling  his  thumbs. 

“ What’s  quare?”  inquired  Matty,  very  dryly. 

“ The  estate,”  responded  Andy. 

44  What  estate?”  asked  Matty. 

“ Your  estate  and  my  estate,”  said  Andy. 

44  Sure,  you  don’t  call  the  three-cornered  field  my  father 
gave  us  an  estate,  you  fool?”  answered  Matty. 

44  Oh,  no,”  said  Andy.  44 1 mane  the  blessed  and  holy 
estate  of  matrimony  the  priest  put  us  in  possession  of;” 
and  Andy  drew  a stool  near  the  heiress,  on  the  strength  of 
the  hit  he  thought  he  had  made. 

44  Sit  at  the  other  side  of  the  fire,”  said  Matty,  very 
coldly. 

44  Yes,  miss,”  responded  Andy,  very  respectfully;  and  in 
shoving  his  seat  backward  the  legs  of  the  stool  caught  in 
the  earthen  floor,  and  Andy  tumbled  heels  over  head. 

Matty  laughed  while  Andy  was  picking  himself  up  with 


HANDY  ANDY. 


321 


increased  confusion  at  this  mishap;  for  even  amidst  rustics 
there  is  nothing  more  humiliating  than  a lover  placing 
himself  in  a ridiculous  position  at  the  moment  he  is  doing 
his  best  to  make  himself  agreeable. 

“It  is  well  your  coat's  not  new/'  said  Matty,  with  a con- 
temptuous look  at  Handy's  weather-beaten  vestment. 

“ I hope  I'll  soon  have  a betther/'  said  Andy,  a little 
piqued,  with  all  his  reverence  for  the  heiress,  at  this  allusion 
to  his  poverty.  “But  sure  it  wasn't  the  coat  you  married, 
but  the  man  that's  in  it;  and  sure  I'll  take  off  my  clothes 
as  soon  as  you  please,  Matty,  my  dear— Miss  Dwyer,  I 
mane — I beg  your  pardon." 

“You  had  better  wait  till  you  get  better,"  answered 
Matty,  very  dryly.  “You  know  the  old  saying,  f Don't 
throw  out  your  dirty  wather  until  you  get  in  fresh.'" 

“Ah,  darlin',  don't  be  cruel  to  me!"  said  Andy,  in  a 
supplicating  tone.  “ I know  I'm  not  desarvin's  of  you,  but 
sure  I did  not  make  so  bowld  as  to  make  up  to  you  until  I 
seen  that  nobody  else  would  have  you." 

“Nobody  else  have  me!"  exclaimed  Matty,  as  her  eyes 
flashed  with  anger. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  miss,"  said  poor  Andy,  who  in  the 
extremity  of  his  own  humility  had  committed  such  an  oi 
fense  against  Matty's  pride.  “I  only  meant  that — " 

“ Say  no  more  about  it,"  said  Matty,  who  recovered  her 
equanimity.  “ Didn't  my  father  give  you  the  lease  of  the 
field  and  house?" 

“Yes,  miss." 

“ You  had  better  let  me  keep  it,  then;  'twill  be  safer 
with  me  than  you." 

“ Sartainly,"  said  Andy,  who  drew  the  lease  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  her,  and — as  he  was  near  to  her — 
he  attempted  a little  familiarity,  which  Matty  repelled  very 
unequivocally. 

“ Arrah!  is  it  jokes  you  are  crackin'?"  said  Andy,  with  a 
grin,  advancing  to  renew  his  fondling. 

“I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Matty,  jumping  up,.  “I'll 
crack  your  head  if  you  don't  behave  yourself!"  and  she 
seized  the  stocl  on  which  she  had  been  sitting,  and  bran- 
dished it  in  a very  Amazonian  fashion. 

“ Oh,  wirra,  wirra!"  said  Andy,  in  amaze — “aren't  you 
my  wife?" 

“ Your  wife!"  retorted  Matty,  with  a very  devil  in  her 


322 


HANDY  ANDY. 


eye — “ Your  wife,  indeed,  you  great  omadhaun ; why, 
then,  had  you  the  brass  to  think  Fd  put  up  with  you  V ' 

“ Arrah,  then,  why  did  you  marry  me?^  said  Andy,  in  a 
pitiful,  argumentative  whine. 

“ Why  did  I marry  you?"  retorted  Matty — “ Didn't  I 
know  betther  than  refuse  you,  when  my  father  said  the 
word  when  the  deoil  was  busy  with  him?  Why  did  I maiv 
ry  you? — it's  a pity  I didn't  refuse  and  be  murthered  that 
night,  may  be,  as  soon  as  the  people's  backs  were  turned. 
Oh,  it's  little  you  know  of  old  Jack  Dwyer,  or  you 
wouldn't  ask  me  that;  but,  though  I'm  afraid  of  him,  I'm 
not  afraid  of  you — so  stand  off,  I tell  you." 

“ Oh,  Blessed  Virgin!"  cried  Andy;  “ and  what  win  be 
the  end  of  it?" 

There  was  a tapping  at  the  door  as  he  spoke. 

“You'll  soon  see  what  will  be  the  end  of  -it,"  said 
Matty,  as  she  walked  across  the  cabin  and  opened  to  the 

knock. 

James  Casey  entered  and  clasped  Matty  in  his  arms;  and 
half  a dozen  athletic  fellows  and  one  old  and  debauched- 
looking  man  followed,  and  the  door  was  immediately  closed 
after  their  entry. 

Andy  stood  in  amazement  while  Casey  and  Matty 
caressed  each  other;  and  the  old  man  said  in  a voice 
tremulous  with  intoxication,  “A  very  pretty  filly,  by 
jingo!" 

“I  lost  no  time  the  minute  I got  your  message,  Matty," 
said  Casey,  “and  here's  the  Father  ready  to  join  us." 

“Ay,  ay,"  cackled  the  old  reprobate — “hammer  and 
tongs! — strike  while  the  iron's  hot!— I'm  the  boy  for  a 
short  job;"  and  he  pulled  a greasy  book  from  his  pocket 
as  he  spoke. 

This  was  a degraded  clergyman  known  in  Ireland  under 
the  title  of  “ Couple-Beggar,"  who  is  ready  to  perform  ir- 
regular marriages  on  such  urgent  occasions  as  the  present  ; 
and  Matty  had  contrived  to  inform  James  Casey  of  the 
desperate  turn  affairs  had  taken  at  home,  and  recommend- 
ed him  to  adopt  the  present  plan,  and  so  defeat  the  violent 
measure  of  her  father  by  one  still  more  so. 

A scene  of  uproar  now  ensued,  for  Andy  did  not  take 
matters  quietly,  but  made  a pretty  considerable  row,  which 
was  speedily  quelled,  however,  by  Casey's  body-guard,  who 
tied  Andy  neck  and  heels,  and  in  that  hopeless  state  he 


HANDY  ANDY. 


323 


witnessed  the  marriage  ceremony  performed  by  the 
“ couple-beggar/*  between  Casey  and  the  girl  he  had  look- 
ed upon  as  his  own  five  minutes  before. 

In  vain  did  he  raise  his  voice  against  the  proceeding; 
the  “ couple-beggar  " smothered  his  objections  in  ribald 
jests. 

“ You  can't  take  her  from  me,  I tell  you,"  cried  Andy. 

“ No;  but  we  can  take  you  from  her,"  said  the  “ couple- 
beggar;"  and,  at  the  words,  Casey's  friends  dragged  Andy 
firm  the  cottage,  bidding  a rollicking  adieu  to  their  tri- 
umphant companion,  who  bolted  the  door  after  them  and 
became  possessor  of  the  wife  and  property  poor  Andy 
thought  he  had  secured. 

To  guard  against  an  immediate  alarm  being  given,  Andy 
was  warned  on  pain  of  death  to  be  silent  as  his  captors 
bore  him  along,  and  he  took  them  to  be  too  much  men  of 
their  word  to  doubt  they  would  keep  their  promise.  They 
bore  him  through  a lonely  by-lane  for  some  time,  and  on 
arriving  at  the  stump  of  an  old  tree,  bound  him  securely 
to  it,  and  left  him  to  pass  his  wedding-night  in  the  tight 
embraces  of  hemp. 


CHAPTEK  XXX. 

The  news  of  Andy's  wedding,  so  strange  in  itself,  and 
being  celebrated  before  so  many,  spread  over  the  country 
like  wildfire  and  made  the  talk  of  half  the  barony  for  the 
next  day,  and  the  question,  Arrah,  did  you  hear  of  the 
wondherful  wedding  ?”  was  asked  in  high-road  and  by-road, 
and  scarcely  a boreen  whose  hedges  had  not  borne  witness 
to  this  startling  matrimonial  intelligence.  The  story,  like 
all  other  stories,  of  course  got  twisted  into  various  strange 
shapes,  and  fanciful  exaggerations  became  grafted  on  the 
original  stem,  sufficiently  grotesque  in  itself;  and  one  of 
the  versions  set  forth  how  old  Jack  Dwyer,  the  more  to  vex 
Casey,  had  given  his  daughter  the  greatest  fortune  that 
ever  had  been  heard  of  in  the  country. 

Now  one  of  the  open-eared  people  who  had  caught  hold 
of  the  story  by  this  end  happened  to  meet  Andy's  mother, 
and,  with  a congratulatory  grin,  began  with  The  top  o' 
the  mornin'  to  you,  Mrs.  Booney,  and  sure  I wish  you  joy." 

“ Och  hone,  and  for  why,  dear?"  answered  Mrs.  Eooney* 


324 


HASTDY  AHDY. 


“ sure,  it's  nothin*  but  trouble  and  care  I have,  poor  and 
in  want,  like  me.** 

“But  sure  you*ll  never  be  in  want  any  more.** 

“ Arrah,  who  towld  you  so,  agra?** 

“ Sure  the  boy  will  take  care  of  you  now,  won*t  he?** 

“ What  boy?** 

“ Andy,  sure!** 

“Andy!**  replied  his  mother,  in  amazement.  “Andy, 
indeed! — out  o*  place,  and  without  a bawbee  to  bless  hirm 
self  with! — stayin*  out  all  night,  the  blackguard!** 

“ By  this  and  that,  I don*t  think  you  know  a word  about 
it,**  cried  the  friend,  whose  turn  it  was  for  wonder  now. 

“Don*t  I,  indeed?**  said  Mrs.  Booney,  huffed  at  having 
her  word  doubted,  as  she  thought.  “I  tell  you  he  never 
teas  at  home  last  night,  and  may  be  it*s  yourself  was  help- 
ing him,  Micky  Lavery,  to  keep  his  bad  coorses — the  slinge- 
in*  dirty  blackguard  that  he  is.** 

Micky  Lavery  set  up  a shout  of  laughter,  which  increased 
the  ire  of  Mrs.  Booney,  who  would  have  passed  on  in  dig- 
nified silence  but  that  Micky  held  her  fast,  and  when  he 
recovered  breath  enough  to  speak,  he  proceeded  to  tell  her 
about  Andy*s  marriage,  but  in  such  a disjointed  way,  that 
it  was  some  time  before  Mrs.  Booney  could  comprehend 
him — for  his  interjectional  laughter  at  the  capital  joke  it 
was,  that  she  should  be  the  last  to  know  it,  and  that  he  should 
have  the  luck  to  tell  it,  sometimes  broke  the  thread  of  his 
story — and  then  his  collateral  observations  so  disfigured  the 
tale,  that  its  incomprehensibility  became  very  much  in- 
creased, until  at  last  Mrs.  Booney  was  driven  to  push  him 
by  direct  questions. 

“ For  the  tendher  mercy,  Micky  Lavery,  make  me  sinsi- 
ble,  and  don*t  disthract  me — is  the  boy  married?** 

“ Yis,  I tell  you.** 

“ To  Jack  Dwyer*s  daughter?** 

“Yis.** 

“ And  gev  him  a fort*n?** 

“ Gev  him  half  his  property,  I tell  you,  and  he*ll  have 
all  when  the  owld  man*s  dead.** 

“Oh,  more  power  to  you,  Andy!**  cried  his  mother  in 
delight;  “it*s  you  that  is  the  boy,  and  the  best  child  that 
ever  was!  Half  his  property,  you  tell  me,  Misther  Lavery?** 
added  she,  getting  distant  and  polite  the  moment  she  found 


HAKDY  AKDY.  3$> 

herself  mother  to  a rich  man,  and  curtailing  her  familiar- 
ity with  a poor  one  like  Lavery. 

“ Yes,  ma’am”  said  Lavery,  touching  his  hat,  “and  the 
whole  of  it  when  the  owld  man  dies.” 

“ Then,  indeed,  I wish  him  a happy  relase!”*  said  Mrs. 
Rooney,  piously — “not  tha*fc  I owe  the  man  any  spite — but 
sure  he'd  be  no  loss — and  it's  a good  wish  to  any  one,  sure, 
to  wish  them  in  heaven.  Good  mornin',  Misther  Lavery,” 
said  Mrs.  Rooney,  with  a patronizing  smile,  and  “going 
the  road  with  a dignified  air.” 

Mick  Lavery  looked  after  her  with  mingled  wonder  and 
indignation.  “Bad  luck  to  you,  you  owld  sthrap!”  he 
muttered  between  his  teeth.  “ How  consaited  you  are,  all 
of  a sudden — by  Jakers,  I'm  sorry  I towld  you — cock  you 
up,  indeed — put  a beggar  on  horseback  to  be  sure — humph! 
— the  devil  cut  the  tongue  out  o'  me  if  ever  I give  any  one 
good  news  again.  I've  a mind  to  turn  back  and  tell  Tim 
Dooling  his  horse  is  in  the  pound.” 

Mrs.  Rooney  continued  her  dignified  pace  as  long  as  she 
was  in  sight  of  Lavery,  but  the  moment  an  angle  of  the 
road  screened  her  from  his  observation,  off  she  set,  running 
as  hard  as  she  could,  to  embrace  her  darling  Andy,  and 
realize  with  her  own  eyes  and  ears  all  the  good  news  she 
had  heard.  She  puffed  out  by  the  way  many  set  phrases 
about  the  goodness  of  Providence,  and  arranged  at  the 
same  time  sundry  fine  speeches  to  make  to  the  bride;  so 
that  the  old  lady's  piety  and  flattery  ran  a strange  couple 
together  along  with  herself;  v/hile  mixed  up  with  her  pray- 
ers and  her  blarney,  were  certain  speculations  about  Jack 
Dwyer — as  to  how  long  he  could  live — and  how  much  he 
might  leave. 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  she  reached  the  hill  which 
commanded  a view  of  the  three-cornered  field  and  the  snug 
cottage,  and  down  she  rushed  to  embrace  her  darling  Andy 
and  his  gentle  bride.  Puffing  and  blowing  like  a porpoise, 
bang  she  went  into  the  cottage,  and  Matty  being  the  first 
person  she  met,  she  flung  herself  upon  her,  and  covered 
her  with  embraces  and  blessings. 

Matty,  being  taken  by  surprise,  was  some  time  before 
she  could  shake  oft*  the  old  beldame's  hateful  caresses;  but 
at  last  getting  free  and  tucking  up  her  hair,  which  her  im- 

* A “ happy  release  ” is  the  Irish  phrase  for  departing  this  life. 


326 


Sandy  ahdy# 


aginary  mother-in-law  had  clawed  about  her  ears,  she  ex- 
claimed in  no  very  gentle  tones — 

“ Arrah,  good  woman,  who  axed  for  your  company — 
who  are  you  at  all?” 

“ Your  mother-in-law,  jewel!”  cried  the  Widow  Eooney, 
making  another  open-armed  rush  at  her  beloved  daughter- 
in-law;  but  Matty  received  the  widows  protruding  mouth 
on  her  clinched  fist  instead  of  her  lips,  and  the  old  woman's 
nose  coming  in  for  a share  of  Matty's  knuckles,  a ruby 
stream  spurted  forth,  while  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow 
danced  before  Mrs.  Rooney's  eyes  as  she  reeled  backward 
on  the  floor. 

“ Take  that,  you  owld  fagot!”  cried  Matty,  as  she  shook 
Mrs.  Rooney’s  tributary  claret  from  the  knuckles  which 
had  so  scientifically  tapped  it,  and  wiped  her  hand  in  her 
apron. 

The  old  woman  roared  “ millia'  murthur  ” on  the  floor, 
and  snuffled  out  a deprecatory  question  “if  that  was  the 
proper  way  to  be  received  in  her  son's  house.” 

“ Your  son's  house,  indeed!”  cried  Matty.  “ Get  out  o' 
the  place,  you  stack  o'  rags.” 

“ Oh,  Andy!  Andy!”  cried  the  mother,  gathering  herself 
up. 

“Oh — that's  it,  is  it!”  cried  Matty;  “ so  it's  Andy  you 
want?” 

“ To  be  sure:  why  wouldn't  I want  him,  you  hussy?  My 
boy!  my  darlin'!  my  beauty!” 

“Well,  go  look  for  him!”  cried  Matty,  giving  her  a 
shove  toward  the  door. 

“ Well,  now,  do  you  think  I'll  be  turned  out  of  my  son's 
house  so  quietly  as  that,  you  unnatural  baggage!”  cried  Mrs. 
Rooney,  facing  round,  fiercely.  Upon  which  a bitter  alter- 
cation ensued  between  the  women,  in  the  course  of  which 
the  widow  soon  learned  that  Andy  was  not  the  possessor 
of  Matty's  charms:  whereupon  the  old  woman,  no  longer 
having  the  fear  of  damaging  her  daughter-in-law's  beauty 
before  her  eyes,  tackled  to  for  a fight  in  right  earnest,  in 
the  course  of  which  some  reprisals  were  made  by  the  widow 
in  revenge  for  her  broken  nose;  but  Matty's  youth  and 
activity,  joined  to  her  Amazonian  spirit,  turned  the  tide  in 
her  favor,  though,  had  not  the  old  lady  been  blown  by  her 
long  run,  the  victory  would  not  have  been  so  easy,  for  she 
Was  a tough  customer,  and  left  Matty  certain  marks  of  hex 


HAKDY  A KD¥, 


U7 


favor  tli  at  did  not  rub  out  in  a hurry — while  she  took  away 
(as  a l .^psake)  a handful  of  Matty’s  hair,  by  which  she  had 
long  held  on  till  a successful  kick  from  the  gentle  bride 
finally  ejected  Mrs.  Eooney  from  the  house. 

Off  she  reeled,  bleeding  and  roaring,  and  while  on  her 
approach  she  had  been  blessing  Heaven  and  inventing 
sweet  speeches  for  Matty,  on  her  retreat  she  was  cursing 
fate  and  heaping  all  sorts  of  hard  names  on  the  Amazon 
she  came  to  flatter.  ALas,  for  the  brevity  of  human  ex- 
ultation! 

How  fared  it  in  the  meantime  with  Andy?  He,  poor 
devil!  had  passed  a cold  night,  tied  up  to  the  old  tree,  and 
as  the  morning  dawned  every  object  appeared  to  him 
through  the  dim  light  in  a distorted  form;  the  gaping  hol- 
low of  the  old  trunk  to  which  he  was  bound  seemed  like  a 
huge  mouth,  opening  to  swailow  him,  while  the  old  knots 
looked  like  eyes,  and  the  gnarled  branches  like  claws, 
staring  at  and  ready  to  tear  him  in  pieces. 

A raven,  perched  above  him  on  a lonely  branch,  croaked 
dismally,  till  Andy  fancied  he  could  hear  words  of  reproach 
in  the  sounds,  while  a little  tomtit  chattered  and  twittered 
on  a neighboring  bough,  as  if  he  enjoyed  and  approved  of  all 
the  severe  things  the  raven  uttered.  The  little  tomtit  was 
the  worst  of  the  two,  just  as  the  solemn  reproof  of  the  wise 
can  be  better  borne  than  the  impertinent  remark  of  some 
chattering  fool.  To  these  imaginary  evils  was  added  the 
reality  of  some  enormous  water-rats  that  issued  from  an 
adjacent  pool  and  began  to  eat  Andy’s  hat  and  shoes,  which 
had  fallen  off  in  his  struggle  with  his  captors;  and  all  Andy’s 
warning  ejaculations  could  not  make  the  vermin  abstain  from 
his  shoes  and  his  hat,  which,  to  judge  from  their  eager  eating, 
could  not  stay  their  stomachs  long,  so  that  Andy,  as  he 
looked  on  at  the  rapid  demolition,  began  to  dread  that  they 
might  transfer  their  favors  from  his  attire  to  himself,  until 
the  tramp  of  approaching  horses  relieved  his  anxiety,  and 
in  a few  minutes  two  horsemen  stood  before  him — they 
were  Father  Phil  and  Squire  Egan. 

Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  Father  to  see  the  fellow  he 
had  married  the  night  before,  and  whom  he  supposed  to  be 
in  the  enjoyment  of  his  honeymoon,  tied  up  to  a tree  and 
looking  more  dead  than  alive;  and  his  indignation  knew  no 
bounds  when  he  heard  that  a “ couple-beggar  ” had  dared 
to  celebrate  the  marriage  ceremony  J whicIT  fact  came  out 


328 


HANDY  ANDY. 


in  the  course  of  the  explanation  Andy  made  of  the  des- 
perate misadventure  which  had  befallen  him;  but  all  other 
grievances  gave  way  in  the  eyes  of  Father  Phil  to  the 
“ couple-beggar.” 

“A  ‘ couple-beggar  '! — the  audacious  vagabones!”  he 
cried,  while  he  and  the  Squire  were  engaged  in  loosing 
Andy's  bonds.  “ A c couple-beggar ' in  my  parish!  How 
fast  they  have  tied  him  up.  Squire!”  he  added,  as  he  en- 
deavored to  undo  a knot.  “ A ‘ couple-beggar,'  indeed  1 
fll  undo  the  marriage! — have  you  a knife  about  you. 
Squire? — the  blessed  and  holy  tie  of  matrimony! — it's  a 
black  knot,  bad  luck  to  it,  and  must  be  cut — take  your 
leg  out  o'  that,  now — and  wait  till  I lay  my  hands  on  them 
— a ‘ couple-beggar,'  indeed!” 

“A  desperate  outrage  this  whole  affair  has  been!”  said 
the  Squire. 

“But  a c couple-beggar,'  Squire.” 

“ His  house  broken  into — ” 

“ But  a * couple-beggar ' — ” 

“ His  wife  taken  from  him — ” 

“ But  a couple-beggar' — ” 

“ The  laws  violated — ” 

“But  my  dues , Squire — think  o'  that! — what  would  be- 
come o'  them , if  couple-beggars ' is  allowed  to  show  their 
audacious  faces  in  the  parish?  Oh,  wait  till  next  Sunday, 
that's  all — I'll  have  them  up  before  the  althar,  and  I'll 
make  them  beg  God's  pardon,  and  my  pardon,  and  the 
congregation's  pardon,  the  audacious  pair!”* 

“It's  an  assault  on  Andy,”  said  the  Squire. 

“ It's  a robbery  on  me,”  said  Father  Phil. 

“ Could  you  identify  the  men?”  said  the  Squire. 


* A man  ana  woman  who  had  been  united  by  a “ couple-beggar  ’ 
were  called  up  one  Sunday  by  the  priest  in  the  face  of  the  con- 
gregation, and  summoned,  as  Father  Phil  threatens  above,  to  beg 
God’s  pardon,  and  the  priest’s  pardon,  and  the  congregation’s  par- 
don; but  the  woman  stoutly  refused  the  last  condition.  “ I’ll  beg 
God’s  pardon  and  your  Reverence’s  pardon,”  she  said,  “ but  I won’t 
beg  the  congregation’s  pardon.”  '“You  won’t?”  says  the  priest. 
“I  won’t,”  says  she.  “Oh,  you  conthrarv  baggage,”  cried  his 
Reverence;  “ take  her  home  out  o*  that,”  said  he  to  her  husband 
who  had  humbled  himself — “ take  her  home,  and  leather  her  well 
— for  she  wants  it ; and  if  you  don’t  leather  her,  you’ll  be  sorry — 
for  if  you  don’t  make  her  afraid  of  you,  she’ll  master  you,  too— 
take  her  home  and  leather  her.” — Fact. 


EtAtfi>¥  AHDt. 


323 


t€  Do  you  know  the  ‘ couple-beggar  *?”  said  the  priest. 
“Did  James  Casey  lay  his  hands  on  you?”  said  the 
Squire;  “ for  he's  a good  man  to  have  a warrant  against.” 
“Oh,  Squire,  Squire!”  ejaculated  Father  Phil;  “talking 
of  laying  hands  on  him  is  it  you  are? — didn't  that  black- 
guard * couple-beggar ' lay  his  dirty  hands  on  a woman  that 
my  bran  new  benediction  was  upon ! Sure,  they'd  do  any- 
thing after  that!” 

By  this  time  Andy  was  free,  and  having  received  the 
Squire's  directions  to  follow  him  to  Merryvale,  Father  Phil 
and  the  worthy  Squire  were  once  more  in  their  saddles  and 
proceeded  quietly  to  the  same  place,  the  Squire  silently 
considering  the  audacity  of  the  coup-de-main  which  robbed 
Andy  of  his  wife,  and  his  reverence  puffing  out  his  rosy 
cheeks  and  muttering  sundry  angry  sentences,  the  only  in- 
telligible words  of  which  were  “couple-beggar.” 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Doubtless  the  reader  has  anticipated  that  the  presence 
of  Father  Phil  in  the  company  of  the  Squire  at  this  im- 
mediate time  was  on  account  of  the  communication  made 
by  Andy  about  the  post-office  affair.  Father  Phil  had 
determined  to  give  the  Squire  freedom  from  the  strategic 
coil  in  which  Larry  Hogan  had  insnared  him,  and  lost  no 
time  in  setting  about  it;  and  it  was  on  his  intended  visit  to 
Merryvale  that  he  met  its  hospitable  owner,  and  telling  him 
there  was  a matter  of  some  private  importance  he  wished 
to  communicate,  suggested  a quiet  ride  together;  and  this 
it  was  which  led  to  their  traversing  the  lonely  little  lane 
where  they  discovered  Andy,  whose  name  was  so  principal 
in  the  revelations  of  that  day. 

To  the  Squire  those  revelations  were  of  the  dearest  im- 
portance; for  they  relieved  his  mind  from  a weight  which 
had  been  oppressing  it  for  some  time,  and  set  his  heart  at 
rest.  Egan,  it  must  be  remarked,  was  an  odd  mixture  of 
courage  and  cowardice;  undaunted  by  personal  danger,  but 
strangely  timorous  where  moral  courage  was  required.  A 
remarkable  shyness,  too,  made  him  hesitate  constantly  in 
the  utterance  of  a word  which  might  explain  away  any 
difficulty  in  which  he  chanced  to  find  himself;  and  this 


330 


HAfri)Y  AKDl^. 


helped  to  keep  his  tongue  tied  in  the  matter  where  Larry 
Hogan  had  continued  to  make  himself  a bugbear.  He  had 
a horror,  too,  of  being  thought  capable  of  doing  a dis-. 
honorable  thing,  and  the  shame  he  felt  at  having  peeped 
into  a letter  was  so  stinging,  that  the  idea  of  asking  any 
one's  advice  in  the  dilemma  in  which  he  was  placed  made 
him  recoil  from  the  thought  of  such  aid.  Now,  Father 
Phil  had  relieved  him  from  the  difficulties  his  own  weak- 
ness imposed;  the  subject  had  been  forced  upon  him;  and 
once  forced  to  speak  he  made  a full  acknowledgment  of  all 
that  had  taken  place;  and  when  he  found  Andy  had  not 
borne  witness  against  him,  and  that  Larry  Hogan  only 
inferred  his  participation  in  the  transaction,  he  saw  on 
Father  Phil's  showing  that  he  was  not  really  in  Larry 
Hogan's  power;  for  though  he  admitted  he  had  given  Larry 
a trifle  of  money  from  time  to  time  when  Larry  asked  for 
it,  under  the  influence  of  certain  innuendoes,  yet  that  was 
no  proof  against  him;  and  Father  Phil's  advice  was  to  get 
Andy  out  of  the  way  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  to  set 
Larry  quietly  at  defiance — that  is  to  say,  in  Father  Phil's 
own  words,  “to  keep  never  minding  him." 

Now  Andy  not  being  encumbered  with  a wife  (as  fate 
had  so  ordained  it)  made  the  matter  easier,  and  the  Squire 
and  the  Father,  as  they  rode  toward  Merryvale  together  to 
dinner,  agreed  to  pack  off  Andy  without  delay,  and  thus 
place  him  beyond  Hogan's  power;  and  as  Dick  Dawson 
was  going  to  London  with  Murphy,  to  push  the  petition 
against  Scatterbrain's  return,  it  was  looked  upon  as  a lucky 
chance,  and  Andy  was  at  once  named  to  bear  them  com- 
pany. 

“But  you  must  not  let  Hogan  know  that  Andy  is  sent 
away  under  your  patronage,  Squire,"  said  the  Father, 
“for  that  would  be  presumptive  evidence  you  had  an  in- 
terest in  his  absence;  and  Hogan  is  the  very  blackguard 
would  see  it  fast  enough,  for  he  is  a knowing  rascal." 

“ He's  the  deepest  scoundrel  I ever  met,"  said  the  Squire. 

“ As  knowing  as  a jailer,"  said  Father  PhiL  “ A jailer, 
did  I say — by  dad,  he  bates  any  jailer  I ever  heard  of — for 
that  fellow  is  so  'cute,  he  could  Tceep  Newgate  with  a hook* 
and-eye” 

“ By-the-bye,  there's  one  thing  I forgot  to  tell  you,  re- 
specting those  letters  I threw  into  the  fire;  for  remember. 
Father,  I only  peeped  into  one  and  destroyed  the  others; 


fitANDY  AKDY. 


331 

but  one  of  the  letters,  I must  tell  you,  was  directed  to 
yourself.  ” 

“ Faith,  then,  I forgive  you  that,  squire,”  said  Father 
Phil,  “ for  I hate  letters;  but  if  you  have  any  scruple  of 
conscience  on  the  subject,  write  me  one  yourself,  and  that 
will  do  as  well.” 

The  Squire  could  not  help  thinking  the  Father's  mode 
of  settling  the  difficulty  worthy  of  Handy  Andy  himself; 
but  he  did  not  tell  the  Father  so. 

They  had  now  reached  Merryvale,  where  the  good-hu- 
mored priest  was  heartily  welcomed,  and  where  Doctor 
Growling,  Dick  Dawson,  and  Murphy  were  also  guests  at 
dinner.  Great  was  the  delight  of  the  party  at  the  history 
they  heard,  when  the  cloth  was  drawn,  of  Andy's  wedding, 
so  much  in  keeping  with  his  former  life  and  adventures, 
and  Father  Phil  had  another  opportunity  of  venting  his 
rage  against  the  “ couple-beggar." 

“That  was  but  a slip-knot  you  tied.  Father,”  said  thq 
doctor. 

“Ay,  ay!  joke  away,  doctor.” 

“ Do  you  think.  Father  Phil,”  said  Murphy,  “that  that 
marriage  was  made  in  heaven,  where  we  are  told  marriages 
are  made?” 

“I  don't  suppose  it  was,  Mr.  Murphy;  for  if  it  had  it 
would  have  held  upon  earth.” 

“Very  well  answered.  Father,”  said  the  Squire. 

“ I don't  know  what  other  people  think  about  matches 
being  made  in  heaven,”  said  Growling,  “ but  I have  my 
suspicions  they  are  sometimes  made  in  another  place.” 

“Oh,  fy,  doctor!”  said  Mrs.  Egan. 

“ The  doctor,  ma'am,  is  an  old  bachelor,”  said  Father 
Phil,  “ or  he  wouldn't  say  so.” 

“Thank  you.  Father  Phil,  for  so  polite  a speech.” 

The  doctor  took  his  pencil  from  his  pocket  and  began  to 
write  on  a small  bit  of  paper,  which  the  priest  observing, 
asked  him  what  he  was  about,  “ or  is  it  writing  a prescrip- 
tion you  are,”  said  he,  “for  compounding  better  marriages 
than  I can?” 

“ Something  very  naughty,  I dare  say,  the  doctor  is  do- 
ing,” said  Fanny  Dawson. 

“Judge  for  yourself,  lady  fair,”  said  the  doctor,  handing 
Fanny  the  slip  of  paper. 


HAHDY  AXDY* 


Fanny  looked  at  it  for  a moment  and  smiled,  but  de- 
clared it  was  very  wicked  indeed. 

“ Then  read  it  for  the  company,  and  condemn  me  out 
of  your  own  pretty  mouth.  Miss  Dawson,”  said  the  doctor. 

“ It  is  too  wicked.” 

“ If  it  is  ever  so  wicked,”  said  Father  Phil,  “ the  wicked- 
ness will  be  neutralized  by  being  read  by  an  angel.” 

“ Well  done,  St.  Omer's,”  cried  Murphy. 

“Really,  Father,”  said  Fanny,  blushing,  “you  are  des- 
perately gallant  to-day;  and,  just  to  shame  you,  and  show 
how  little  of  an  angel  I am,  I will  read  the  doctor’s 
epigram: 

“ Though  matches  are  all  made  in  heaven,  they  say. 

Yet  Hymen,  who  mischief  oft  hatches, 

Sometimes  deals  with  the  house  V other  side  of  the 
And  there  they  make  Lucifer  matches  1” 

“Oh,  doctor!  Fm  afraid  you  are  a woman-hater,”  said 
Mrs.  Egan.  “ Come  away,  Fanny;  I am  sure  they  want 
to  get  rid  of  us.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Fanny,  rising  and  joining  her  sister,  who  was 
leaving  the  room,  “ and  now,  after  abusing  poor  Hymen, 
gentlemen,  we  leave  you  to  your  favorite  worship  of  Bac- 
chus.” 

The  departure  of  the  ladies  changed  the  conversation 
and  after  the  gentlemen  had  resumed  their  seats,  thedoctoi 
asked  Dick  Dawson  how  soon  he  intended  going  to  London. 

“I  start  immediately,”  said  Dick.  “Don't  forget  to 
give  me  that  letter  of  introduction  to  your  friend  in  Dub- 
lin, whom  I long  to  know.” 

“Who  is  he?”  asked  the  Squire. 

“ One  Tom  Loftus — or,  as  his  friends  call  him,  * Piping 
Tom/  from  his  vocal  powers;  or,  as  some  nickname  him, 

* Organ  Loftus/  from  his  imitation  of  that  instrument, 
which  is  an  excessively  comical  piece  of  caricature.” 

“ Oh!  I know  him  well,”  said  Father  Phil. 

“ How  did  you  manage  to  become  acquainted  with  him?” 
inquired  the  doctor,  “for  I did  not  think  he  lay  much  in 
your  way.” 

“It  was  Tie  became  acquainted  with  me,”  said  Father 
Phil,  “ and  this  was  the  way  of  it — he  was  down  on  a visit 
betimes  in  the  parish  I was  in  before  this,  and  his  behavior 
was  so  wild  that  I was  obliged  to  make  an  allusion  in  the 


HANDY  ANDY. 


333 


chapel  to  his  indiscretions,  and  threaten  to  make  his  con- 
duct a subject  of  severe  public  censure  if  he  did  not  mind 
his  manners  a little  better.  Well,  my  dear,  who  should 
call  on  me  the  Monday  morning  after  but  Misther  Tom, 
all  smiles  and  graces,  and  protesting  he  was  sorry  he  fell 
under  my  displeasure,  and  hoping  I would  never  have  cause 
to  find  fault  with  him  again.  Sure,  I thought  he  was  re- 
penting of  his  misdeeds,  and  I said  I was  glad  to  hear  such 
good  words  from  him.  ‘ A'then,  Father/  says  he,  ‘ I hear 
you  have  got  a great  curiosity  from  Dublin — a shower- 
bath,  I hear?*  So  I said  I had:  and  indeed,  to  be  candid, 
I was  as  proud  as  a peacock  of  the  same  bath,  which  tickled 
my  fancy  when  I was  once  in  town,  so  I bought  it. 
‘ Would  you  show  it  to  me?'  says  he.  * To  be  sure/  says  I, 
and  off  I went,  like  a fool,  and  put  the  wather  on  the  top,  and 
showed  him  how,  when  a string  was  pulled,  down  it  came 
— and  he  pretended  not  to  clearly  understand  the  thing, 
and  at  last  he  said,  ‘ Sure  it's  not  into  that  sentry-box  you 
get?'  says  he.  ‘ Oh,  yes/  said  I,  getting  into  it  quite  inno- 
cent; when,  my  dear,  he  slaps  the  door  and  fastens  it  on 
me,  and  pulls  the  string  and  souses  me  with  the  water,  and  I 
with  my  best  suit  of  black  on  me.  I roared  and  shouted 
inside  while  Misther  Tom  Loftus  was  screechin'  laughing 
outside,  and  dancing  round  the  room  with  delight.  At 
last,  when  he  could  speak,  he  said,  ‘ Now,  Father,  we're 
even/  says  he,  c for  the  abuse  you  gave  me  yesterday/  and 
off  he  ran." 

“That's  just  like  him/' said  old  Growling,  chuckling; 
“ he's  a queer  devil.  I remember  on  one  occasion  a poor 
dandy  puppy,  who  was  in  the  same  office  with  him — for 
Tom  is  in  the  Ordnance  department,  you  must  know — 
this  puppy,  sir,  wanted  to  go  to  the  Ashbourne  races  and 
cut  a figure  in  the  eyes  of  a rich  grocer's  daughter  he  was 
sweet  upon." 

“ Being  sweet  upon  a grocer's  daughter,"  said  Mur- 
phy, “is  like  bringing  coals  to  Newcastle." 

“Faith!  it  was  coals  to  Newcastle  with  a vengeance,  in 
the  present  case,  for  the  girl  would  have  nothing  to  say  to 
him,  and  Tom  had  great  delight  whenever  he  could  annoy 
this  poor  fool  in  his  love-making  plots.  So,  when  he  came 
to  Tom  to  ask  for  the  loan  of  his  horse,  Tom  said  he  should 
have  him  if  Tie  could  make  the  smallest  use  of  him — ‘but 
I don't  think  you  can/  said  Tom.  ‘ Leave  that  to  me/  said 


334 


HAXDY  AXDY. 


the  youth.  4 I don’t  think  you  could  make  him  go/  said 
Tom.  4 m buy  a new  pair  of  spurs/  said  the  puppy. 
' Let  them  be  handsome  ones/  said  Tom.  4 I was  looking 
at  a very  handsome  pair  at  Lamprey’s,  yesterday/  said  the 
young  gentleman.  4 Then  you  can  buy  them  on  your  way 
to  my  stables/ said  Tom;  and  sure  enough,  sir,  the  youth 
laid  out  his  money  on  a very  costly  pair  of  persuaders,  and 
then  proceeded  homeward  with  Tom.  4 Now,  with  all  your 
spurs/  said  Tom,  4 I don’t  think  you’ll  be  able  to  make  him 
go.’  * Is  he  so  very  vicious,  then?’  inquired  the  youth,  who 
began  to  think  of  his  neck.  4 On  the  contrary/  said  Tom, 
4 he’s  perfectly  quiet,  but  won’t  go  for  you , I’ll  bet  a pound.’ 
4 Done!’  said  the  youth.  4 Well,  try  him/  said  Tom,  as  he 
threw  open  the  stable  door.  4 He’s  lazy,  I see/ said  the 
youth;  44 for  he’s  lying  down.’  4 Faith  he  is/ said  Tom, 
4 and  hasn’t  got  up  these  two  days!’  4 Get  up,  you  brute!’ 
said  the  innocent  youth,  giving  a smart  cut  of  his  whip  on 
the  horse’s  flank;  but  the  horse  did  not  budge.  4 Why , he’s 
dead  l’  says  he.  4 Yes/  says  Tom,  4 since  Monday  last. 
So  I don’t  think  you  can  make  him  go,  and  you’ve  lost  your 
bet !’” 

44  That  was  hardly  a fair  joke,”  said  the  Squire. 

44  Tom  never  stops  to  think  of  that,”  returned  the  doctor; 
44  he’s  the  oddest  fellow  I ever  knew.  The  last  time  I was 
in  Dublin,  I called  on  Tom  and  found  him  one  bitter 
cold  and  stormy  morning  standing  at  an  open  window, 
nearly  quite  undressed.  On  asking  him  what  he  was  about, 
he  said  he  was  getting  up  a bass  voice;  that  Mrs.  Some- 
body, who  gave  good  dinners  and  bad  concerts,  was  dis- 
appointed of  her  bass  singer,  4 and  I think/  said  Tom, 
4 I’ll  be  hoarse  enough  in  the  evening  to  take  double  B flat. 
Systems  are  the  fashion  now/  said  he;  4 there  is  the 
Logierian  system  and  other  systems,  and  mine  is  the  Cold- 
air-ian  system,  and  the  best  in  the  world  for  getting  up  a 
bass  voice.’  ” 

44  That  was  very  original  certainly,”  said  the  Squire. 

44  But  did  you  ever  hear  of  his  adventure  with  the  Duke 
of  Wellington?”  said  the  doctor. 

44  The  Duke!”  they  all  exclaimed. 

44  Yes — that  is,  when  he  was  only  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley. 
Well,  I’ll  tell  you.” 

44  Stop,”  said  the  Squire,  44  a fresh  story  requires  a fresh 
bottle.  Let  me  ring  for  some  claret.” 


HANDY  ANDY, 


r 


835 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

The  servant  who  brought  in  the  claret  announced  at  the 
same  time  the  arrival  of  a fresh  guest  in  the  person  of 
“ Captain  Moriarty,**  who  was  welcomed  by  most  of  the 
party  by  the  name  of  Eandal.  The  Squire  regretted  he 
was  too  late  for  dinner,  inquiring  at  the  same  time  if  he 
would  like  to  have  something  to  eat  at  the  side-table;  but 
Eandal  declined  the  offer,  assuring  the  Squire  he  had  got 
some  refreshment  during  the  day  while  he  had  been  out 
shooting;  but  as  the  sport  led  him  near  Merry  vale,  and 
“ he  had  a great  thirst  upon  him/*  he  did  not  know  a bet- 
ter house  in  the  country  wherein  to  have  “ that  same** 
satisfied. 

u Then  you*re  just  in  time  for  some  cool  claret/*  said 
the  Squire;  “ so  sit  down  beside  the  doctor,  for  he  must 
have  the  first  glass  and  broach  the  bottle,  before  he  broaches 
the  story  he*s  going  to  tell  us — that*s  only  fair.** 

The  doctor  filled  his  glass,  and  tasted.  “ What  a nice 
* chateau  * ‘ Margaux  * must  be/*  said  he,  as  he  laid  down 
his  glass.  “ I should  like  to  be  a tenant-at-will  there  at  a 
small  rent.  ** 

4 6 And  no  taxes/* said  Dick. 

“ Except  my  duty  to  the  claret,**  replied  the. doctor. 

“ ‘ My  favorite  chateau 
Is  that  of  Margaux/ 

t€  By  the  bye,  talking  of  chdteau , there *s  the  big  brewer 
over  at  the  town,  who  is  anxious  to  affect  gentility,  and  he 
heard  some  one  use  the  word  * chapeau , and  having  found 
out  it  was  the  French  for  hat , he  determined  to  show  off 
on  the  earliest  possible  occasion,  and  selected  a public 
meeting  of  some  sort  to  display  his  accomplishment.  Tak- 
ing some  cause  of  objection  to  the  proceedings,  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  leaving  the  meeting,  he  said,  ‘ Gentlemen,  the 
fact  is  I can*t  agree  with  you,  so  I may  as  well  take  my 
chdteau  under  my  arm  at  once,  and  walk.  * ** 

“ Is  not  that  an  invention  of  your  own,  doctor?**  said 
the  Squire. 

_ “ I heard  it  for  fact/*  said  Growling. 


203  '-UAUDY  AKBY. 

“And  ’tis  true/ ’ added  Murphy,  “for  I was  present 
when  he  said  it.  And  at  an  earlier  part  of  the  proceedings 
he  suggested  that  the  parish  clerk  should  read  the  resolu- 
tions, because  he  had  a good  ‘ laudable  voice.  ’ ” 

“ A parish  clerk  ought  to  have,”  said  the  doctor — “ eh. 
Father  Phil?  c Ladamus  !’  ” 

“ Leave  your  Latin,”  said  Dick,  “ and  tell  us  that  story 
you  promised  about  the  Duke  and  Tom  Loftus.” 

“ Eight,  Misther  Dick,”  said  Father  Phil. 

“ The  story,  doctor,”  said  the  Squire. 

“ Oh,  don’t  make  such  bones  about  it,”  said  Growling; 
“ ’tis  but  a trifle  after  ail;  only  it  shows  you  what  a queer 
and  reckless  rascal  Tom  is.  I told  you  he  was  called 
‘ Organ  9 Loftus  by  his  friends,  in  consequence  of  the  imi- 
tation he  makes  of  that  instrument;  and  it  certainly  is 
worth  hearing  and  seeing,  for  your  eyes  have  as  much  to 
do  with  the  affair  as  your  ears.  Tom  plants  himself  on  a 
high  office-stool,  before  one  of  those  lofty  desks  with  long 
rows  of  drawers  down  each  side  and  a hole  between  to  put 
your  legs  under.  "W  ell,  sir,  Tom  pulls  out  the  top  draw- 
ers, like  the  stops  of  an  organ,  and  the  lower  ones  by  way 
of  pedals:  and  then  he  begihs  thrashing  the  desks  like  the 
finger-board  of  an  organ,  with  his  hands,  while  his  feet 
kick  away  at  the  lower  drawers  as  if  he  were  the  greatest 
pedal  performer  out  of  Germany,  and  he  emits  a rapid  suc- 
cession of  grunts  and  squeaks,  producing  a ludicrous 
reminiscence  of  the  instrument,  which  I defy  any  one  to 
hear  without  laughing.  Several  sows  and  an  indefinite 
number  of  sucking  pigs  could  not  make  a greater  noise, 
and  Tom  himself  declares  he  studied  the  instrument  in  a 
pig-sty,  which  he  maintains  gave  the  first  notion  of  an 
organ.  Well,  sir,  the  youths  in  the  office  assist  in  * doing 
the  service/  as  they  call  it,  that  is,  making  an  imitation  of 
the  chanting  and  so  forth  in  St.  Patrick’s  Cathedral.” 

“ Oh,  the  haythens!”  said  Father  Phil. 

“ One  does  Spray,  and  another  Weyman,  and  another 
Sir  John  Stevenson,  and  so  on;  and  they  go  on  responsing 
and  singing  4 Amen  ’ till  the  Ordnance  Office  rings  again.  ” 
“ Have  they  nothing  better  to  do?”  asked  the  Squire. 

“ Very  little  but  reading  the  papers,”  said  the  doctor. 

“ Well — Tom — you  must  know,  sir — was  transferred 
BOme  time  ago,  by  the  interest  of  many  influential  friends, 
to  the  London  department;  and  the  fame  of  his  musical 


HANDY  ANDY. 


337 


powers  had  gone  before  him  from  some  of  the  English 
clerks  in  Ireland  who  had  been  advanced  to  the  higher 

J)Osts  in  Dublin,  and  kept  up  correspondence  with  their  old 
riends  in  London;  and  it  was  not  long  until  Tom  was  re- 
quested to  go  through  an  anthem  on  the  great  office-desk. 
Tom  was  only  too  glad  to  be  asked,  and  he  kept  the  whole 
office  in  a roar  for  an  hour  with  all  the  varieties  of  the  in- 
strument— from  the  diapason  to  the  flute-stop — and  the 
devil  a more  business  was  done  in  the  office  that  day,  and 
Tom  before  long  made  the  sober  English  fellows  as  great 
idlers  as  the  chaps  in  Dublin.  Well — it  was  not  long  until 
a sudden  flush  of  business  came  upon  the  department,  in 
consequence  of  the  urgent  preparations  making  for  supplies 
t;o  Spain,  at  the  time  the  Duke  was  going  there  to  take  the 
command  of  the  army,  and  organ-playing  was  set  aside  for 
.pome  days;  but  the  fellows,  after  a week’s  abstinence,  began 
to  yearn  for  it,  and  Tom  was  requested  to  ‘ do  the  service.  ’ 
Tom,  nothing  loath,  threw  aside  his  official  papers,  set  up 
55  big  ledger  before  him,  and  commenced  his  legerdemain, 
*s  he  called  it,  pulled  out  his  stops,  and  began  to  work 
away  like  a weaver,  while  every  now  and  then  he  swore  at 
the  bellows-blower  for  not  giving  him  wind  enough,  where- 
upon the  choristers  would  kick  the  bellows-blower  to  ac- 
celerate his  flatulency.  Well,  sir,  they  were  in  the  middle 
of  the  service,  and  all  the  blackguards  making  the  re- 
sponses in  due  season,  when,  just  as  Tom  was  quivering 
under  a portentous  grunt,  which  might  have  shamed  the 
principal  diapason  of  Harlaem,  and  the  subs  were  drawing 
out  a resplendent  ‘ A — a — a — men/  the  door  opened,  and 
in  walked  a smart-looking  gentleman,  with  rather  a large 
nose  and  quick  eye,  which  latter  glanced  round  the  office, 
where  a sudden  endeavor  was  made  by  everybody  to  get 
back  to  his  place.  The  smart  gentleman  seemed  rather 
surprised  to  see  a little  fat  man  blowing  at  a desk  instead 
of  the  fire,  and  long  Tom  kicking,  grunting,  and  squealing 
like  mad.  The  bellows-blower  was  so  taken  by  surprise  he 
couldn’t  stir,  and  Tom,  having  his  back  to  them,  did  not 
see  what  had  taken  place,  and  went  on  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  till  the  smart  gentleman  went  up  to  him,  and 
tapping  on  Tom’s  desk  with  a little  riding- whip,  he  said, 
< I’m  sorry  to  disturb  you,  sir,  but  I wish  to  know  what 
you’re  about.’  ‘ We’re  doing  the  service,  sir,’  said  Tom, 
no  ways  abashed  at  the  sight  of  the  stranger,  for  he  did 


333 


HANDY  ANDY. 


not  know  it  was  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley  was  talking  to  him. 
‘ Not  th q public  service,  sir/  said  Sir  Arthur.  6 Yes,  sir/ 
said  Tom,  ‘ the  service  as  by  law  established  in  the  second 
year  of  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the  Sixth, * and  he 
favored  the  future  hero  of  Waterloo  with  a touch  of  the 
organ.  ‘ Who  is  the  head  of  this  office?*  inquired  Sir 
Arthur.  Tom,  with  a very  gracious  bow,  replied,  ‘ I am 
principal  organist,  sir,  and  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
the  principal  bellows-blower  * — and  he  pointed  to  the  poor 
little  man,  who  let  the  bellows  fall  from  his  hand  as  Sir 
Arthur  fixed  his  eyes  on  him.  Tom  did  not  perceive  till 
now  that  all  the  clerks  were  taken  with  a sudden  fit  of 
industry,  and  were  writing  away  for  the  bare  life;  and  he 
cast  a look  of  surprise  round  the  office  while  Sir  Arthur 
was  looking  at  the  bellows-blower.  One  of  the  clerks  made 
a wry  face  at  Tom,  which  showed  him  all  was  not  right. 
‘ Is  this  the  way  his  Majesty  *s  service  generally  goes  on 
here?*  said  Sir  Arthur,  sharply.  No  one  answered;  but 
Tom  saw,  by  the  long  faces  of  the  clerks  and  the  short 
question  of  the  visitor,  that  he  was  somebody. 

“ ‘ Some  transports  are  waiting  for  ordnance  stores,  and 
I am  referred  to  this  office,*  said  Sir  Arthur;  ‘ can  any  one 
give  me  a satisfactory  answer?* 

“ The  senior  clerk  present  (for  the  head  of  the  office  was 
absent)  came  forward  and  said,  ‘ I believe,  sir — * 

“ ( You  believe , but  you  don*t  know/  said  Sir  Arthur; 
‘ so  I must  wait  for  stores  while  you  are  playing  tomfoolery 
here.  1*11  report  this.*  Then  producing  a little  tablet 
and  a pencil,  he  turned  to  Tom  and  said,  6 Favor  me  with 
your  name,  sir?* 

“ ‘ I give  you  my  honor,  sir,*  said  Tom. 

“ ‘ I'd  rather  you*d  give  me  the  stores,  sir — 1*11  trouble 
you  for  your  name?* 

“ ‘ Upon  my  honor , sir,*  said  Tom,  again. 

“ i You  seem  to  have  a great  deal  of  that  article  on  your 
hands,  sir/  said  Sir  Arthur:  4 you* re  an  Irishman,  i sup- 


‘Du  • 

“ ‘ Yes,  sir/  said  Tom. 

“ ‘ I thought  so.  Your  name?’ 
“ * Loftus,  sir.’ 

“ * Ely  family?’ 

« < -no;  > 


“ « No,  sir.’ 

**  * Glad  of  it/ 


HANDY  ANDY. 


330 


u He  put  up  his  tablet  after  writing  the  name. 

“ ‘ May  I beg  the  favor  to  know,  sir/  said  Tom,  t<; 
whom  I have  the  honor  of  addressing  myself  ?' 

“ ‘ Sir  Arthur  Wellesley,  sir/ 

“ ‘ Oh!  J — — s!'  cried  Tom,  c Fm  done/ 

“ Sir  Arthur  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  extraordi- 
nary change  in  Tom's  countenance;  and  Tom,  taking  ad? 
vantage  of  this  relaxation  in  his  iron  manner,  said  in  a 
most  penitent  tone,  ‘ Oh,  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley,  only  for^ 
give  me  this  time,  and  'pon  my  sowl ,'  says  he — with  the 
richest  brogue — 6 I'll  play  a Te  Deum  for  the  first  licking 
you  give  the  French/  Sir  Arthur  smiled  and  left  the 
office/' 

“ Did  he  report  as  he  threatened?"  asked  the  Squire. 

“ Faith,  he  did/' 

“ And  Tom?"  inquired  Dick. 

“ Was  sent  back  to  Ireland,  sir. " 

“ That  was  hard,  after  the  Duke  smiled  at  him,"  said 
Murphy. 

“ V/eil,  he  did  not  let  him  suffer  in  pocket;  he  was  trans- 
ferred at  as  good  a salary  to  a less  important  department; 
but  you  know  the  Duke  has  been  celebrated  all  his  life  for 
never  overlooking  a breach  of  duty. " 

“ And  who  can  blame  him?"  said  Moriarty. 

“ One  great  advantage  of  the  practice  has  been,"  said 
the  Squire,  “ that  no  man  has  been  better  served.  I re- 
member hearing  a striking  instance  of  wliat,  perhaps, 
might  be  called  severe  justice,  which  he  exercised  on  a 
young  and  distinguished'  officer  of  artillery  in  Spain;  and 
though  one  can  not  help  pitying  the  case  of  the  gallant 
young  fellow  who  was  the  sacrifice,  yet  the  question  of 
strict  duty,  to  the  very  word,  was  set  at  rest  forever  under 
the  Duke's  command,  and  it  saved  much  after- trouble  by 
making  every  officer  satisfied,  however  fiery  his  courage  or 
tender  his  sense  of  being  suspected  of  the  white  feather, 
that  implicit  obedience  was  the  course  he  must  pursue. 
The  case  was  this:  the  army  was  going  into  action — " 

“ What  action  was  it?"  inquired  Father  Phil,  with  that 
remarkable  alacrity  which  men  of  peace  evince  in  hearing 
the  fullest  particulars  about  war,  perhaps  because  it  is  for- 
bidden to  their  cloth;  one  of  the  many  instances  of  things 
acquiring  a fictitious  value  by  being  interdicted— just  as 


340 


HAHDY  AKDY. 


Father  Phil  himself  might  have  been  a Protestant  only  for 
the  penal  laws. 

“I  don't  know  what  action  it  was/' said  the  Squire, 
“ nor  the  officer's  name — for  I don't  set  up  for  a military 
chronicler;  but  it  was,  as  I have  been  telling  you,  going 
into  action  that  the  Duke  posted  an  officer,  with  his  six 
guns,  at  a certain  point,  telling  him  to  remain  there  until 
he  had  orders  from  him.  Away  went  the  rest  of  the  army, 
and  the  officer  was  left  doing  nothing  at  all,  which  be 
didn't  like;  for  he  was  one  of  those  high-blooded  gentle- 
men who  are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  are  making 
other  people  miserable,  and  he  was  longing  for  the  head  of 
a French  column  to  be  hammering  away  at.  In  half  an 
hour  or  so  he  heard  the  distant  sound  of  action,  and  it  ap- 

Eroached  nearer  and  nearer,  until  he  heard  it  close  behind 
im;  and  he  wondered  rather  that  he  was  not  invited  to 
take  a share  in  it,  when,  pat  to  his  thought,  up  came  an 
aide-de-camp  at  full  speed,  telling  him  that  General  Some' 
body  ordered  him  to  bring  up  his  guns.  The  officer  aske<? 
did  not  the  order  come  from  Lord  Wellington?  The  aide * 
de-camp  said  no,  but  from  the  general,  whoever  he  was: 
The  officer  explained  that  he  was  placed  there  by  Lord 
Wellington,  under  command  not  to  move,  unless  by  art 
order  from  himself  The  aide-de-camp  stated  that  thtf 
general's  entire  brigade  was  being  driven  in  and  must  be 
annihilated  without  the  aid  of  the  guns,  and  asked  c would 
he  let  a whole  brigade  be  slaughtered?'  in  a tone  which 
wounded  the  young  soldier's  pride,  savoring,  as  he  thought 
it  did,  of  an  imputation  on  his  courage.  He  immediately 
ordered  his  guns  to  move  and  joined  battle  with  the  gen- 
eral; but  while  he  was  away,  an  aide-de-camp  from  Lord 
Wellington  rode  up  to  where  the  guns  had  heen  posted ; 
and,  of  course,  no  gun  was  to  be  had  for  the  service  which 
Lord  Wellington  required.  Well,  the  French  were  re- 
pulsed, as  it  happened;  but  the  want  of  those  six  gun? 
seriously  marred  a preconcerted  movement  of  the  Duke's; 
and  the  officer  in  command  of  them  was  immediately 
brought  to  a court-martial,  and  would  have  lost  his  com- 
mission but  for  the  universal  interest  made  in  his  favor  by 
the  general  officers  in  consideration  of  his  former  meritorious 
conduct  and  distinguished  gallantry,  and  under  the  necul- 
iar  circumstances  of  the  case.  They  did  not  breal?  nun, 
but  he  was  suspended,  and  Lord  Wellington  sent  him  home 


HANDY  ANDY. 


311 


to  England.  Almost  every  general  officer  in  the  army  eiv 
deavored  to  get  his  sentence  revoked,  lamenting  the  fate  of 
a gallant  fellow  being  sent  away  for  a slight  error  in  judg- 
ment while  the  army  was  in  hot  action;  but  Lord  Welling- 
ton was  inexorable,  saying  he  must  make  an  example  to 
secure  himself  in  the  perfect  obedience  of  officers  to  their 
orders;  and  it  had  the  effect.” 

“ Well,  that's  what  I call  hard!"  said  Dick. 

“ My  dear  Dick,”  said  the  Squire,  66  war  is  altogether  a 
hard  thing,  and.  a man  has  no  business  to  be  a general  wlio 
isn't  as  hard  as  his  own  round  shot.” 

“ And  what  became  of  the  dear  young  man?”  said 
Father  Phil,  who  seemed  much  touched  by  the  readiness 
with  which  the  dear  young  man  set  off  to  mow  down  the 
French. 

“ I can  tell  you,”  said  Moriarty,  “ for  I served  with  him 
afterward  in  the  Peninsula.  He  was  let  back  after  a year 
or  so,  and  became  so  thorough  a disciplinarian,  that  he 
swore,  when  once  he  was  at  his  post,  ‘ they  might  kill  his 
father  before  his  face  and  he  wouldn't  budge  until  he  had 
orders."' 

“ A most  Christian  resolution,"  said  the  doctor. 

“ Well,  I can  tell  you,”  said  Moriarty,  “ of  a French- 
man, who  made  a greater  breach  of  discipline,  and  it  was 
treated  more  leniently.  I heard  the  story  from  the  man's 
own  lips,  and  if  I could  only  give  you  his  voice  and  gesture 
and  manner  it  would  amuse  you.  Wffiat  fellows  those 
Frenchmen  are,  to  be  sure,  for  telling  a story!  they  make 
a shrug  or  a wink  have  twenty  different  meanings,  and 
their  claws  are  most  eloquent — one  might  say  they  talk  on 
their  fingers — and  their  broken  English,  I think,  helps 
them.  ” 

“ Then  give  the  story,  Randal,  in  his  manner,”  said 
Dick.  “ I have  heard  you  imitate  a Frenchman  capitally.” 

“ Well,  here  goes,”  said  Moriarty;  “ but  let  me  wet  my 
whistle  with  a glass  of  claret  before  I begin — a French 
story  should  have  French  wine.”  Randal  tossed  off  one 
glass,  and  filled  a second  by  way  of  reserve,  and  then  began 
the  French  officer  s story. 

“ You  see,  sare,  it  vos  ven  in  Espagne  de  bivouac  vos 
vairy  ard  indeet  'pon  us,  vor  ve  coot  naut  get  into  de  town 
at  all,  nevair,  becos  you  dam  Ingelish  keep  all  de  town  to 


HA  1ST) Y AHBY. 


342 

yoursefs — vor  ve  fall  back  at  dat  time  becos  we  get  not 
support — no  corps  de  reserve,  you  perceive — so  ve  mek 
retrograde  movement — not  retreat — no*  no — but  retro- 
grade movement.  Yell — von  night  I was  wit  my  picket 
guart*  and  it  was  raining  like  de  devil*  and  de  vind  vos 
vinding  up  de  valley*  so  cold  as  noting  at  all*  and  de  dark 
vos  vot  you  could  not  see — no — not  your  nose  bevore  your 
face.  Yell*  I hear  de  tramp  of  horse*  and  I look  into  de 
dark— for  ve  vere  vairy  moche  on  the  qui  vive,  because  ve 
expec  de  Ingelish  to  attaque  de  next  day — but  I see  noting; 
but  de  tramp  of  horse  come  closer  and  closer*  and  at  last  I 
ask*  6 Who  is  dere?*  andde  tramp  of  de  horse  stop.  I run 
forward*  and  den  I see  Ingelish  offisair  of  cavallerie.  I 
address  him*  and  tell  him  he  is  in  our  lines*  but  I do  not 
vant  to  mek  him  prisonair— -for  you  must  know  dat  he  vos 
prisonair*  if  I like,  ven  he  vos  vithin  our  line.  He  is  very 
polite — he  say,  ‘ Bien  oblige — bon  enfant ;*  and  we  tek  off 
our  hat  to  each  ozer.  6 1 aff  lost  my  roat**  he  say;  and  I 
say*  * Yais  * — bote  I vill  put  him  into  his  roat*  and  so  I ask 
for  a moment  pardon*  and  go  back  to  my  caporal * and  tell 
him  to  be  on  de  qui  vive  till  I come  back.  De  Ingelish 
offisair  and  me  talk  very  plaisant  vile  ve  go  togezer  down 
de  leetle  roat*  and  ven  ve  come  to  de  turn*  I say*  ‘ Bon 
soir * Monsieur  le  Capitaine — dat  is  your  vay. * He  den 
tank  me*  vera  moche  like  gentilman*  and  vish  he  coot  mek 
me  some  return  for  my  generosite * as  he  please  to  say — and 
Isay*  6 Bah\  Ingelish  gentilman  vood  do  de  same  to  French 
offisair  who  lose  his  vay. * & Den  come  here* 9 he  say*  c bon 
enfant,  can  you  leave  your  post  for  *aff  an  hour?*  6 Leave 
my  post?*  I say.  ‘ Yais**  said  he*  5 1 know  your  army  has 
not  moche  provision  lately*  and  maj  be  you  are  ongrie?* 
‘ Ma  foi * yais**  said  I;  ‘ I aff  naut  slips  to  my  eyes*  nor 
meat  to  my  stomach*  for  more  dan  fife  days.*  ‘ Veil*  bon 
enfant **  he  say*  c come  vis  me*  and  I vill  gif  you  good 
Supper*  goot  vine*  and  goot  velcome.  * “ Coot  I leave  my 

post?*  I say.  He  say*  6 Bah!  Caporal  take  care  till  you 
qome  back.  * By  gar*  I coot  naut  resist — he  vos  so  vairy 
moche  gentilman  and  I was  so  ongrie — I go  vis  him — not 
fife  hunder  yarts — ah!  bon  Dieu— how  nice*!  In  de  corner 
of  a leetle  ruin  chapel  dere  is  nice  bit  of  fire*  and  hang  on 
a string  before  it  de  half  of  a kid — oh  ciel!  de  smell  of  de 
ros-bif  was  so  nice— I rub  my  hands  to  de  fire — I sniff  de 
cuisine— L see  in  anozer  corner  a couple  bottles  of  wine 


HANDY  ANDY. 


343 


. — mere!  it  vos  all  watair  in  my  mouts!  Ye  sit  down  to 
suppair — I nevair  did  ate  so  moche  in  my  life.  Ve  did 
finish  de  bones*  and  vosh  down  all  mid  der  good  wine — ex- 
cellent! Ve  drink  de  toast — a la  gloire — and  ve  talk  of  d§ 
campaign.  Ye  drink  a la  Patrie,  and  den  I tink  of  la 
telle  France  and  ma  douce  amie — and  he  fissel*  ‘ Got  saf^ 
de  King. ' Ye  den  drink  a Vamitie,  and  shek  hands  over 
dat  fire  in  good  frainship — dem  two  hands  that  might  cros§ 
de  swords  in  de  morning.  Yais*  sair*  dat  was  fine — 'twas 
galliard — 'twas  la  vrai  chivalrie — two  so j air  ennemi  to 
share  de  same  kid*  drink  de  same  wine*  and  talk  like  two 
friends.  Yell*  I got  den  so  sleepy*  dat  my  eyes  go  blink* 
blink*  and  my  goot  friend  says  to  me*  ‘ Sleep*  old  fellow;  I 
know  you  aff  got  hard  fare  of  late*  and  you  are  tired; 
sleep*  all  is  quiet  for  to-night*  and  I will  call  you  before 
dawn. 9 Sair*  I vos  so  tired*  I forgot  my  duty*  and  fall 
down  fast  asleep.  Yell*  sair*  in  de  night  de  pickets  of 
de  two  armie  get  so  close*  and  mix  up*  dat  some  shot 
gets  fired*  and  in  one  moment  all  in  confusion.  I am 
shake  by  de  shoulder — I wake  like  from  dream — I heard 
sharp  fusillade — my  friend  cry*  c Fly  to  your  post*  it  is 
attack!'  We  exchange  one  shek  of  de  hand*  and  I run  off 
to  my  post.  Oh,  del ! — it  is  driven  in — I see  dem  fly.  Oh * 
mon  desespoir  a ce  moment-la ! I am  ruin—  deshonore — I 
rush  to  de  front — I rally  mes  traves — ve  stand ! — ve  ad- 
vance!!!— ve  regain  de  post!!! — I am  safe!!!  De  fusillade 
cease — it  is  only  an  affair  of  outposts.  I tink  I am  safe — 

I tink  I am  very  fine  fellow — but  Monsieur  V Aide-Major 
send  for  me  and  speak,  ‘ Vere  vos  you  last  night*  sair?' 

* I mount  guard  by  de  mill. ' 4 Are  you  surer'  ‘ Oui , 
monsieur . ' ‘ Yere  vos  you  when  your  post  vos  attack?' 

I saw  it  vos  no  use  to  deny  any  longair*  so  I confess  to  him 
every  ting.  6 Sair*'  said  he*  6 you  rally  your  men  very  good,  v 
or  you  should  te  shot!  Young  man*  remember*'  said  he — 

I will  never  forget  his  vorts — ‘ young  man  vine  is  goot — 
slip  is  goot — goat  is  goot — tut  honners  is  tetters!9  " 

“ A capital  story*  Randal*"  cried  Dick;  “ but  bow  much 
of  it  did  you  invent?" 

“ 'Pon  my  life*  it  is  as  near  the  original  as  possible." 

“ Besides*  that  is  not  a fair  way  of  using  a story*"  said 
the  doctor.  “ You  should  take  a story  as  you  get  it*  and 
not  play  the  dissector  upon  it*  mangling  its  poor  body  to 
discover  the  bit  of  embellishment;  and  as  long^s 


344 


HJJtfDY  AKDY. 


maintains  vraisemhlance,  I contend  you  are  bound  to  re- 
ceive the  whole  as  true. ” 

“A  most  author-like  creed,  doctor,”  said  Dick;  “yon 
are  a story-teller  yourself,  and  enter  upon  the  defense  of 
your  craft  with  great  spirit. 99 

“And  justice,  too,”  said  the  Squire;  “the  doctor  is 
quite  right. 99 

“ Don*t  suppose  I can*t  see  the  little  touches  of  the  art- 
ist,” said  the  doctor;  ” but  so  long  as  they  are  in  keeping 
with  the  picture,  I enjoy  them;  for  instance,  my  friend 
RandaPs  touch  of  the  Englishman  6 fissling  Got  safe  de 
King  9 is  very  happy — quite  in  character.” 

“ Well,  good  or  bad,  the  story  in  substance  is  true/' 
said  Randal,  “ and  puts  the  Englishman  in  a fine  point  of 
view — a generous  fellow,  sharing  his  supper  with  his  enemy 
whose  sword  may  be  through  his  body  in  the  next  morn-? 
ing*s  c affair. 9 99 

“But  the  Frenchman  was  generous  to  him  first,”  re- 
marked the  Squire. 

“ Certainly — I admit  it,”  said  Randal.  “ In  short,  they 
were  both  fine  fellows. 99 

“ Oh,  sir,”  said  Father  Phil,  “ the  French  are  not  de- 
ficient in  a chivalrous  spirit.  I heard  once  a very  pretty 
little  bit  of  anecdote  about  the  way  they  behaved  to  one  of 
our  regiments  on  a retreat  in  Spain. 99 

“ Your  regiments!”  said  Moriarty,  who  was  rather  fond 
of  hitting  hard  at  a priest  when  he  could;  “ a regiment  of 
friars  is  it?” 

“ No,  captain,  but  of  soldiers;  and  it's  going  through  a 
river  they  were,  and  the  French,  taking  advantage  of  their 
helpless  condition,  were  peppering  away  at  them  hard  and 
fast.  ” 

“ Very  generous  indeed!”  said  Moriarty,  laughing. 

“ Let  me  finish  my  story,  captain,  before  you  quiz  it.  I 
say  they  were  peppering  them  sorely  while  they  were  cross- 
ing the  river,  until  some  women — the  followers  of  the  camp 
— ran  down  (poor  creatures)  to  the  shore,  and  the  stream 
Was  so  deep  in  the  middle  they  could  scarcely  ford  it;  so 
some  dragoons  who  were  galloping  as  hard  as  they  could 
out  of  the  fire  pulled  up  on  seeing  the  condition  of  the 
womenkind,  and  each  horseman  took  up  a woman  behind 
him,  though  it  diminished  his  own  power  of  speeding  from 
the  danger.  The  moment  the  French  saw  this  act  of  man- 


HAKBT  AHDY. 


345 


ly  courtesy,  they  ceased  firing,  gave  the  dragoons  a cheer, 
and  as  long  as  the  women  were  within  gunshot,  not  a trig- 
ger was  pulled  in  the  French  line,  but  volleys  of  cheer? 
instead  of  ball-cartridge  were  sent  after  the  brigade  till  all 
the  women  were  over.  Now  wasn’t  that  generous?” 

“ ’Twas  a handsome  thing!”  was  the  universal  remark. 
“ And  faith  I can  tell  you.  Captain  Moriarty,  the  army 
took  advantage  of  it;  for  there  was  a great  struggle  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  the  ladies’  company  over  the  river.  ” 

“ I dare  say.  Father  Phil,”  said  the  Squire,  laughing. 

“ Throth,  Squire,”  said  th s padre,  “ fond  of  the  girls  as 
the  soldiers  have  the  reputation  of  being,  they  never  liked 
them  better  than  that  same  day.  ” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Moriarty,  a little  piqued,  for  he  rathei 
affected  the  “ dare-devil,”  “I  see  you  mean  to  insinuate 
that  we  soldiers  fear  fire.  ” 

“ I did  not  say  ‘ fear/  captain — but  they’d  like  to  get 
out  of  it,  for  all  that,  and  small  blame  to  them — aren’t 
they  flesh  and  blood  like  ourselves?” 

“ Not  a bit  like  you,”  said  Moriarty.  “ You  sleek  and 
smooth  gentlemen  who  live  in  luxurious  peace  know  little 
of  a soldier’s  danger  or  feelings.  ” 

“ Captain,  we  all  have  our  dangers  to  go  through;  and 
may  be  a priest  has  as  many  as  a soldier;  and  we  only 
show  a difference  of  taste,  after  all,  in  the  selection.  ” 

“ Well,  Father  Blake,  all  I know  is,  that  a true  soldier 
fears  nothing!”  said  Moriarty  with  energy. 

“ May  be  so,”  answered  Father  Phil,  quietly. 

“ It  is  quite  clear,  however,”  said  Murphy,  “ that  war. 
With  all  its  horrors,  can  call  out  occasionally  the  finer  feel- 
ings of  our  natures;  but  it  is  only  such  redeeming  traits  as 
those  we  have  heard  which  can  reconcile  us  to  it.  I remem- 
ber having  heard  an  incident  of  war,  myself,  which  affected 
me  much,”  said  Murphy,  who  caught  the  infection  of  mil- 
itary anecdote  which  circled  the  table;  and  indeed  there  is 
ho  more  catching  theme  can  be  started  among  men,  for  it 
may  be  remarked  that  whenever  it  is  broached  it  flows  on 
Until  it  is  rather  more  than  time  to  go  to  the  ladies. 

“ It  was  in  the  earlier  portion  of  the  memorable  day  of 
Waterloo,”  said  Murphy,  “ that  a young  officer  of  the 
Guards  received  a wound  which  brought  him  to  the  ground. 
JJis  companions  rushed  on  to  seize  some  point  which  their 


8 46 


HANDY  ANDY. 


desperate  valor  was  called  on  to  carry,  and  he  was  left,  ut- 
terly unable  to  rise,  for  the  wound  was  in  his  foot.  He  lay 
for  some  hours  with  the  thunder  of  that  terrible  day  ring- 
ing around  him,  and  many  a rush  of  horse  and  foot  had 
passed  close  beside  him.  Toward  the  close  of  the  day  he 
saw  one  of  the  Black  Brunswick  dragoons  approaching, 
who  drew  rein  as  his  eye  caught  the  young  Guardsman, 
pale  and  almost  fainting,  on  the  ground.  He  alighted, 
and  finding  he  was  not  mortally  wounded,  assisted  him  to 
rise,  lifted  him  into  his  saddle,  and  helped  to  support  him 
there  while  he  walked  beside  him  to  the  English  rear.  The 
Brunswicker  was  an  old  man;  his  brow  and  mustache  were 
grey;  despair  was  in  his  sunken  eye,  and  from  time  to 
time  he  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest  yearn- 
ing into  the  face  of  the  young  soldier,  who  saw  big  tears 
rolling  down  the  veteran's  cheek  while  he  gazed  upon  him. 
‘ You  seem  in  bitter  sorrow,  my  kind  friend/  said  the  strip- 
ling. ‘ No  wonder/  answered  the  old  man,  with  a hollow 
groan.  6 1 and  my  three  boys  were  in  the  same  regiment 
— they  were  alive  the  morning  of  Ligny — I am  childless 
to-day.  But  I have  revenged  them!'  he  said  fiercely,  and 
as  he  spoke  he  held  out  his  sword,  which  was  literally  red 
with  blood.  ‘But,  oh!  that  will  not  bring  me  back  my 
boys!'  he  exclaimed,  relapsing  into  his  sorrow.  ‘ My  three 
gallant  boys!' — and  again  he  wept  bitterly,  till  clearing  his 
eyes  from  the  tears,  and  looking  up  in  the  young  soldier's 
handsome  face,  he  said  tenderly,  ‘ You  are  like  my 
youngest  one,  and  I could  nor  let  you  lie  on  the  field. ' 99 

Even  the  rollicking  Murphy's  eyes  were  moist  as  he  re- 
cited this  anecdote;  and  as  for  Father  Phil,  he  was  quite 
melted,  ejaculating  in  an  undertone,  “ Oh,  my  poor  fel- 
low! my  poor  fellow!" 

“ So  there, " said  Murphy,  “is  an  example  of  a man, 
with  revenge  in  his  heart,  and  his  right  arm  tired  with 
slaughter,  suddenly  melted  into  gentleness  by  a resem- 
blance to  his  child. 99 

“ 'Tis  very  touching,  but  very  sad,"  said  the  Squire. 

“ My  dear  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  with  his  peculiar  dry- 
ness, “ sadness  is  the  principal  fruit  which  warfare  must 
ever  produce.  You  may  talk  of  glory  as  long  as  you  like, 
but  you  can  not  have  your  laurel  without  your  cypress,  and 
though  you  may  select  certain  bits  of  sentiment  out  of  a 
mass  of  horrors,  if  you  allow  me,  I will  give  you  one  little 


Handy  AirfcV.  34? 

tetcry  which  shan't  keep  you  long,  and  will  serve  as  a 
commentary  upon  war  and  glory  in  general. 

“ At  the  peace  of  1803,  1 happened  to  be  traveling 
through  a town  in  France  where  a certain  count  I knew 
resided.  I waited  upon  him,  and  he  received  me  most 
cordially,  and  invited  me  to  dinner.  I made  the  excuse  that 
I was  only  en  route , and  supplied  with  but  traveling  cos- 
tume, and  therefore  not  fit  to  present  myself  amongst  the 
guests  of  such  a house  as  his.  He  assured  me  I should  only 
meet  his  own  family,  and  pledged  himself  for  Madame  la 
Comtesse  being  willing  to  waive  the  ceremony  of  a grande 
toilette . I went  to  the  house  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  as 
I passed  through  the  hall  I cast  a glance  at  the  dining- 
room and  saw  a very  long  table  laid.  On  arriving  at  the 
reception-room,  I taxed  the  count  with  having  broken  faith 
With  me,  and  was  about  making  my  excuses  to  the  countess 
When  she  assured  me  the  count  had  dealt  honestly  by  me, 
for  that  I was  the  only  guest  to  join  the  family  party. 
Well,  we  sat  down  to  dinner,  three-and-twenty  persons; 
myself,  the  count  and  countess,  and  their  twenty  children! 
and  a more  lovely  family  I never  saw;  he  a man  in  a vigor 
of  life,  she  a still  attractive  woman,  and  these  their  off- 
spring lining  the  table,  where  the  happy  eyes  of  father  and 
mother  glanced  with  pride  and  affection  from  one  side  to 
the  other  on  these  future  staffs  of  their  old  age.  Well,  the 
peace  of  Amiens  was  of  short  duration,  and  I saw  no  more 
of  the  count  till  Napoleon's  abdication.  Then  I visited 
France  again,  and  saw  my  old  friend.  But  it  was  a sad 
sight,  sir,  in  that  same  house,  where,  little  more  than  ten 
years  before,  I had  seen  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  twenty 
children,  to  sit  down  with  three— all  he  had  left  him.  His 
sons  had  fallen  in  battle— his  daughters  had  died  widowed, 
leaving  but  orphans.  And  thus  it  was  all  over  France. 
While  the  public  voice  shouted  4 Glory!'  wailing  was  in  her 
homes.  Her  temple  of  victory  was  filled  with  trophies,  but 
her  hearths  were  made  desolate. " 

“ Still,  sir,  a true  soldier  fears  nothing,**  repeated  Mor- 
iarty 

44  Baithershin ,**  said  Father  Phil.  66  Faith  I have  been 
in  places  of  danger  you#  be  glad  to  get  out  of,  I can  tell 
you,  as  bould  as  you  are,  captain.  ** 

44  You'll  pardon  me  for  doubting  you,  Father  Blake,  *f 
said  Moriarty,  rather  huffed. 


348 


MAKDY  AKDY. 


“ Faith  then  you  wouldn't  like  to  be  where  I was  bef^e 
I came  here;  that  is,  in  a mud  cabin,  where  I was  giving 
the  last  rites  to  six  people  dying  in  the  typhus  fever.  ” 

“ Typhus!”  exclaimed  Moriarty,  growing  pale,  and  in 
stinctively  withdrawing  his  chair  as  far  as  he  could  from 
the  padre  beside  whom  he  sat. 

“ Ay,  typhus,  sir;  most  inveterate  typhus.” 

“Gracious  Heaven!”  said  Moriarty,  rising,  “how  ca^ 
you  do  such  a dreadful  thing  as  run  the  risk  of  bearing  in- 
fection into  society?” 

“ I thought  soldiers  were  not  afraid  of  anything,”  said 
Father  Phil,  laughing  at  him;  and  the  rest  of  the  parly 
joined  in  the  merriment. 

“ Fairly  hit,  Moriarty,”  said  Dick. 

“ Nonsense,”  said  Moriarty  ; “ when  I spoke  of  danger,  I 
meant  such  open  danger  as — in  short,  not  such  insidious 
lurking  abomination  as  infection;  for  I contend  that — ” 

“ Say  no  more,  Randal,”  said  Growling,  “ you're  done! 
— Father  Phil  has  floored  you.” 

“ I deny  it,”  said  Moriarty,  warmly;  but  the  more  he 
denied  it,  the  more  every  one  laughed  at  him. 

“ You're  more  frightened  than  hurt,  Moriarty,”  said  the 
Squire;  “ for  the  best  of  the  joke  is,  Father  Phil  wasn't  in 
contact  with  typhus  at  all,  but  was  riding  with  me — and 
'tis  but  a joke.” 

Here  they  all  roared  at  Moriarty,  who  was  excessively 
angry,  but  felt  himself  in  such  a ridiculous  position  that 
he  could  not  quarrel  with  anybody. 

“ Pardon  me,  my  dear  captain,' ' said  the  Father;  “ I only 
wanted  to  show  you  that  a poor  priest  has  to  run  the  risk 
of  his  life  just  as  much  as  the  boldest  soldier  of  them  all. 
But  don't  you  think.  Squire,  'tis  time  to  join  the  ladies? 
I'm  sure  the  tay  will  be  tired  waiting  for  us.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Mrs.  Egak  was  engaged  in  some  needle-work,  and 
Fanny  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a music-book,  and  occa- 
sionally humming  some  bars  of  her  favorite  songs,  as  the 
gentlemen  came  into  the  drawing-room.  Fanny  rose  from 
the  pianoforte  as  they  entered. 

“ Oh,  Miss  Dawson,”  exclaimed  Moriarty,  “ why  tanta- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


349 


lize  us  so  much  as  to  let  us  see  you  seated  in  that  place 
where  you  can  render  so  much  delight,  only  to  leave  it  as 
we  enter  ?” 

Fanny  turned  off  the  captain's  flourishing  speech  with  a 
few  lively  words  and  a smile,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  tea- 
table  to  do  the  honors. 

“ The  captain,"  said  Father  Phil  to  the  doctor,  “ is 
equally  great  in  love  or  war." 

“ And  knows  about  as  little  of  one  as  the  other,"  said 
the  doctor.  “ His  attacks  are  too  open." 

“ And  therefore  easily  foiled,"  said  Father  Phil.  cc  How 
that  pretty  creature,  with  the  turn  of  a word  and  a curl  of 
her  lip,  upset  him  that  time!  Oh!  what  a powerful  thing 
a woman's  smile  is,  doctor!  I often  congratulate  myself 
that  my  calling  puts  all  such  mundane  follies  and  attrac- 
tions out  of  my  way,  when  I see  and  know  what  fools  wise 
men  are  sometimes  made  by  silly  girls.  Oh,  it  is  fearful, 
doctor;  though,  of  course,  part  of  the  mysterious  dispen- 
sation of  an  all-wise  Providence." 

“ That  fools  should  have  the  mastery,  is  it?'A  inquired 
the  doctor,  dryly,  with  a mischievous  query  in  his  eye  as 
well. 

“ Tut,  tut,  tut,  doctor,"  replied  Father  Phil,  impatient- 
ly; “ you  know  well  enough  what  I mean,  and  I won't 
allow  you  to  engage  me  in  one  of  your  ingenious  battles  of 
words.  I speak  of  that  wonderful  influence  of  the  weaker 
sex  over  the  stronger,  and  how  the  word  of  a rosy  lip  out- 
weighs sometimes  the  resolves  of  a furrowed  brow;  and 
how  the — pooh!  pooh!  I'm  making  a fool  of  myself  talk- 
ing to  you — but  to  make  a long  story  short,  I would 
rather  wrastle  out  a logical  dispute  any  day,  or  a tough 
argument  of  one  of  the  Fathers,  than  refute  some  absurdity 
which  fell  from  a pretty  mouth  with  a smile  on  it. " 

“ Oh,  I quite  agree  with  you,"  said  the  doctor,  grin- 
ning, 46  that  the  fathers  are  not  half  such  dangerous  cus- 
tomers as  the  daughters. " 

“ Ah,  go  along  with  you,  doctor!"  said  Father  Phil, 
with  a good-humored  laugh.  “ I see  you  are  in  one  of 
your  mischievous  moods,  and  so  I'll  have  nothing  more  to 
say  to  you." 

The  Father  turned  away  to  join  the  Squire,  while  the 
doctor  took  a seat  near  Fanny  Dawson  and  enjoyed  a 
quiet  little  bit  of  conversation  with  her,  while  Moriarty 


350 


HANDY  ANDY. 


was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  album;  but  the  brow  of 
the  captain*  who  affected  a taste  in  poetry*  became  knit* 
and  his  lip  assumed  a contemptuous  curl*  as  he  perused 
some  lines*  and  asked  Fanny  whose  was  the  composition. 

“ I forget*  " was  Fanny's  answer. 

“ I don't  wonder*"  said  Moriarty;  “ the  author  is  not 
worth  remembering*  for  they  are  very  rough." 

Fanny  did  not  seem  pleased  with  the  criticism*  and  said, 
that*  when  sung  to  the  measure  of  the  air  written  down  on 
the  opposite  page*  they  were  very  flowing, 

“ But  the  principal  phrase*  the  ‘ refrain *'  I may  say*  is 
so  vulgar*"  added  Moriarty*  returning  to  the  charge. 
“ The  gentleman  says*  6 What  would  you  do?'  and  the  lady 
answers*  6 That's  what  I'd  do.'  Do  you  call  that  poetry?" 

“ I don't  call  that  poetry*"  said  Fanny*  with  some  em- 
phasis on  the  word;  “ but  if  you  connect  those  two  phrases 
with  what  is  intermediately  written*  and  read  all  in  the 
spirit  of  the  entire  of  the  verses*  I think  there  is  poetry 
in  them — but  if  not  poetry,  certainly  feeling” 

“ Can  you  tolerate  c That’s  what  I’d  do’  ?■ — the  pert  an- 
swer of  a house-maid." 

“ A phrase  in  itself  homely*"  answered  Fanny*  66  may 
become  elevated  by  the  use  to  which  it  is  applied. " 

“ Quite  true*  Miss  Dawson*"  said  the  doctor*  joining  in 
the  discussion.  “ But*  what  are  these  lines  which  excite 
Randal's  ire?" 

“ Here  they  are*"  said  Moriarty.  “ I will  read  them* 
if  you  allow  me*  and  then  judge  between  Miss  Dawson  and 

me. 

“ * What  will  you  do,  love,  when  I am  going, 

With  white  sail  flowing. 

The  seas  beyond? 

What  will  you  do,  love,  when—’  ” 

66  Stop  thief! — stop  thief!"  cried  the  doctor.  “ Why* 
you  are  robbing  the  poet  of  his  reputation  as  fast  as  you 
can.  You  don't  attend  to  the  rhythm  of  those  lines — you 
don't  give  the  ringing  of  the  verse." 

“ That's  just  what  I have  said  in  other  words*"  said 
Fanny.  “ When  sung  to  the  melody*  they  are  smooth." 

“ But  a good  reader*  Miss  Dawson*"  said  the  doctor* 
u will  read  verse  with  the  proper  accent*  just  as  a mu- 
sician would  divide  it  into  bars;  but  my  friend  Randal 
there*  although  he  can  tell  a good  story  and  hit  off  prose 


HANDY  ANDY.  25 1 

very  well,  has  no  more  notion  of  rhythm  or  poetry  than 
new  beer  has  of  a holiday.” 

“ And  why,  pray,  has  not  new  beer  a notion  of  a holi- 
day?” 

“ Because,  sir,  it  works  of  a Sunday.” 

“ Your  leer  may  be  new,  doctor,  but  your  joke  is  not — 
I have  seen  it  before  in  some  old  form.” 

“ Well,  sir,  if  I found  it  in  its  old  form,  like  a hare,  and 
started  it  fresh,  it  may  do  for  folks  to  run  after  as  well  as 
anything  else.  But  you  sha'n't  escape  your  misdemeanor 
in  mauling  those  verses  as  you  have  done,  by  finding  fault 
with  my  joke  redevivzis.  You  read  those  lines,  sir,  like  a 
bellman,  without  any  attention  to  meter.” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Father  Phil,  who  had  been  listening 
for  some  time;  “ they  have  a ring  in  them — ” 

“ Like  a pig's  nose,”  said  the  doctor. 

“ Ah,  be  aisy,  ''  said  Father  Phil.  “ I say  they  have  a 
ring  in  them  like  an  owld  Latin  canticle — 


“ * Wliat  will  you  do,  love,  when  I am  go  ing, 

With  white  sail  flow-ing, 

The  says  be  yond  V 

That's  it!” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  the  doctor.  “ I vote  for  the  Fa- 
ther's reading  them  out  on  the  spot." 

“ Pray,  do.  Mister  Blake,”  said  Fanny. 

“ Ah,  Miss  Dawson,  what  have  I to  do  with  reading  love 
verses?" 

“Take  the  book,  sir,"  said  Growling,  “ and  show  me 
you  have  some  faith  in  your  own  sayings,  by  obeying  a lady 
directly." 

“ Pooh!  pooh!”  said  the  priest. 

“ You  won't  refuse  me?”  said  Fanny,  in  a coaxing  tone. 

‘ c My  dear  Miss  Dawson!”  said  the  padre. 

“ Father  Phil!”  said  Fanny,  with  one  of  her  rosy 
smiles. 

“ Oh,  wow!  wow!  wow!"  ejaculated  the  priest,  in  an 
amusing  embarrassment,  “ I see  you  zvill  make  me  do 
whatever  you  like.”  So  Father  Phil  gave  the  rare  exam- 
ple of  a man  acting  up  to  his  own  theory,  and  could  not 
resist  the  demand  that  came  from  a pretty  mouth.  He 
took  the  book  and  read  the  lines  with  much  feeling,  but 


852 


HANDY  ANDY. 


with  an  observance  of  rhythm  so  grotesque,  that  it  must  b© 
given  in  his  own  manner. 

“WHAT  WILL  YOU  DO,  LOVE? 

i. 

u What  will  you  do , love,  when  I am  go-ing, 

With  white  sail  flow- ing,  % 

The  seas  beyond? 

What  will  you  do,  love,  when  waves  di -vide  us,  \ 

And  friends  may  chide  us, 

For  being  fond?*9 

u Though  waves  di -vide  us,  and  friends  be  ce  ding, 
in  faith  a fo’-ding, 

I’ll  still  be  true; 

And  Til  pray  for  thee  on  the  stormy  o cean, 

In  deep  de-w-tion, — 

That’s  what  I'll  dol" 


n. 

9i  What  would  you  do,  love,  if  distant  foldings 
Thy  fond  con-Ji-dings 

Should  under  mine  ? 
And  I a-fo’-ding  ’neath  sultry  skies, 

Should  think  other  eyes 

Were  as  bright  as  thine?9 

44  Oh,  name  it  not;  though  guilt  and  shame 
Were  on  thy  name , 

I’d  still  be  true; 

But  that  heart  of  thine,  should  another  share  it, 

I could  not  bear  it ; — 

What  would  1 do?” 


in. 

44  What  would  you  do,  when,  home  re-turn  ing, 

With  hopes  high  burn  ing, 

With  wealth  for  you— 

If  my  bark  that  bound-e d o’er  foreign  foam, 

Should  be  lost  near  home  — 

Ah,  what  would  you  do?” 

44  So  thou  wert  spar- d,  I’d  bless  the  mor- row, 

In  want  and  sor- row, 

That  left  me  you; 

And  I’d  welcome  thee  from  the  wasting  bit  low, 

My  heart  thy  pil\ ow ! — 

That’s  what  I’d  do!”* 


> * Note  to  the  third  edition. — The  foregoing  dialogue  and 
Moriarty’s  captious  remarks  were  meant,  when  they  appeared  in  the 


HANDY  ANDY.  353 

“ Well  done,  padre!”  said  the  doctor;  “ with  good  em- 
phasis and  discretion.” 

“ And  now,  my  dear  Miss  Dawson,”  said  Father  Phil, 
“ since  Fve  read  the  lines  at  your  high  bidding,  will  you 
sing  them  for  me  at  my  humble  asking?” 

“ Very  antithetically  put,  indeed/'  said  Fanny;  “but 
you  must  excuse  me.” 

“ You  said  there  was  a tune  to  it?” 

“ Yes;  but  I promised  Captain  Moriarty  to  sing  him 
this”  said  Fanny,  going  over  to  the  piano-forte,  and  laying 
her  hand  on  an  open  music-book. 

“ Thanks,  Miss  Dawson,”  said  Moriarty,  following  fast. 
Now,  it  was  not  that  Fanny  Dawson  liked  the  captain 
that  she  was  going  to  sing  the  song;  but  she  thought  he 
had  been  rather  “ moiled  ” by  the  doctor  and  th z padre 
about  the  reading  of  the  verses,  and  it  was  her  good  breed- 
ing which  made  her  pay  this  little  attention  to  the  worsted 
party.  She  poured  forth  her  sweet  voice  in  a simple  mel- 
ody to  the  following  words: 

SAY  NOT  MY  HEART  IS  COLD. 

i. 

u Say  not  my  heart  is  cold, 

Because  of  a silent  tongue! 

The  lute  of  faultless  mold 
In  silence  oft  hath  hung. 

The  fountain  soonest  spent 
Doth  babble  down  the  steep; 

But  the  stream  that  ever  went 
Is  silent,  strong,  and  deep. 

n. 

“ The  charm  of  a secret  life 

Is  given  to  choicest  things : — 


first  edition,  as  a hit  at  a certain  small  critic— a would-be  song-writer— 
who  does  ill-natured  articles  for  the  Reviews,  and  expressed  himself 
very  contemptuously  of  my  songs  because  of  their  simplicity;  or, 
as  he  was  pleased  to  phrase  it,  “I  had  a knack  of  putting  common 
things  together. ” The  song  was  written  to  illustrate  my  belief  that 
the  most  commonplace  expression,  appropriately  applied , may  suc- 
cessfully serve  the  purposes  of  the  lyric;  and  here  experience  has 
proved  me  right,  for  this  very  song  of  “ What  will  you  do?”  (con- 
taining within  it  the  other  commonplace,  “That’s  what  I’d  do”) 
has  been  received  with  special  favor  by  the  public,  whose  long-con- 
tinued good-will  toward  my  compositions  generally  I gratefully 
acknowledge, 


it$4  HANDY  ANDY. 

Of  flowers,  the  fragrance  rife 
Is  wafted  on  viewless  wings; 

We  see  not  the  charmed  air 
Bearing  some  witching  sound; 

And  ocean  deep  is  where 
The  pearl  of  price  is  found. 

hi. 

44  Where  are  the  stars  by  day? 

They  burn,  though  all  unseen! 

And  love  of  purest  ray 
Is  like  the  stars,  I ween : 

Un mark’d  is  the  gentle  light 
When  the  sunshine  of  joy  appears, 

But  ever,  in  sorrow’s  night, 

’Twill  glitter  upon  thy  tears!” 

“Well,  Randal,  does  that  poem  satisfy  your  critical 
taste? — of  the  singing  there  can  be  but  one  opinion.” 

“ Yes,  I think  it  pretty,”  said  Moriarty;  “ but  there  is 
one  word  in  the  last  verse  I object  to/* 

“ Which  is  that?**  inquired  Growling. 

“ Ween,”  said  the  other;  “ 6 the  stars,  I ween/  I ob- 
ject to.  " 

“ Don't  you  see  the  meaning  of  that?”  inquired  the 
doctor.  “ I think  it  is  a very  happy  allusion.” 

“ I don't  see  any  allusion  whatever,”  said  the  critic. 

“ Don't  you  see  the  poet  alluded  to  the  stars  in  the 
milky  way,  and  says,  therefore,  ‘ The  stars  I wean  V ” 

“ Bah!  bah!  doctor,”  exclaimed  the  critical  captain; 
€t  you  are  in  one  of  your  quizzing  moods  to-night,  and  'tis 
in  vain  to  expect  a serious  answer  from  you.”  He  turned 
on  his  heel  as  he  spoke,  and  went  away. 

“ Moriarty,  you  know,  Miss  Dawson,  is  a man  who 
affects  a horror  of  puns,  and  therefore  I always  punish  him 
with  as  many  as  I can,”  said  the  doctor,  who  was  left  by 
Moriarty' s sudden  pique  to  the  enjoyment  of  a pleasant 
chat  with  Fanny,  and  lie  was  sorry  when  the  hour  arrived 
which  disturbed  it  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  party  and  the 
departure  of  the  guests. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

When  the  Widow  Rooney  was  forcibly  ejected  from  the 
house  of  Mrs.  James  Casey,  and  found  that  Andy  was  not 


HANDY  ANDY. 


355 


the  possessor  of  that  lady’s  charms,  she  posted  off  toNeck- 
or-nothing  Hall,  to  hear  the  full  and  true  account  of  the 
transaction  from  Andy  himself.  On  arriving  at  the  old 
iron  gate,  and  pulling  the  loud  bell,  she  was  spoken  to 
through  the  bars  by  the  savage  old  janitor  and  told  to 
“ go  out  o’  that.”  Mrs.  Eooney  thought  fate  was  using 
her  hard  in  decreeing  she  was  to  receive  denial  at  every 
door,  and  endeavored  to  obtain  a parley  with  the  gate- 
keepei,  to  which  he  seemed  no  way  inclined. 

“ My  name’s  Eooney,  sir.” 

“There’s  plenty  bad  o’  the  name,”  was  the  civil  re- 
joinder. 

“ And  my  son’s  in  Squire  O’Grady’s  sarvice,  sir.” 

“ Oh — you’re  the  mother  of  the  beauty  we  call  Handy, 
eh?” 

“ Yis,  sir.” 

“ Well,  he  left  the  sarvice  yistherday.” 

“ Is  it  lost  the  place?” 

“ Yis.  ” 

“ Oh,  dear!  Ah,  sir,  let  me  up  to  the  house  and  spake 
to  his  honor,  and  may  be  he’ll  take  back  the  boy.” 

“He  doesn’t  want  any  more  servants  at  all — for  he’s 
dead  ” 

“ Is  it  Squire  O’Grady  dead?” 

“ Ay — did  you  never  hear  of  a dead  Squire  before?” 

“ What  did  he  die  of,  sir?” 

“ Find  out,”  said  the  sulky  brute,  walking  back  into 
his  den.  It  was  true — the  renowned  O’Grady  was  no 
more.  The  fever  which  had  set  in  from  his  “ broiled 
bones,”  which  he  ivould  have  in  spite  of  anybody,  was 
found  difficult  of  abatement;  and  the  impossibility  of  keep- 
ing him  quiet,  and  his  fits  of  passion,  and  consequent  fresh 
supplies  of  “ broiled  bones,”  rendered  the  malady  unman- 
ageable; and  the  very  day  after  Andy  had  left  the  house 
the  fever  took  a bad  turn,  and  in  four-and-twenty  hours 
the  stormy  O’ Grady  was  at  peace. 

What  a sudden  change  fell  upon  the  house!  All  the 
wedding  paraphernalia  which  had  been  brought  down  lay 
neglected  in  the  rooms  where  it  had  been  the  object  of  the 
preceding  day’s  admiration. 

The  deep,  absorbing,  silent  grief  of  the  wife,  the  more 
audible  sorrow  of  the  girls,  the  subdued  wildness  of  the 


356 


HANDY  ANDY. 


reckless  boys,  as  they  trod  silently  past  the  chamber  where 
they  no  longer  might  dread  reproof  for  their  noise,  all  this 
was  less  touching  than  the  effect  the  event  had  upon  the 
old  dowager  mother.  While  the  senses  of  others  were 
stunned  by  the  blow,  hers  became  awakened  by  the*shock  ; 
all  her  self-aberration  passed  away,  and  she  sat  in  intel- 
lectual self-possession  by  the  side  of  her  son's  death-bed  , 
which  she  never  left  until  he  was  laid  in  his  coffin.  He 
was  the  first  and  last  of  her  sons.  She  had  now  none  but 
grandchildren  to  look  upon — the  intermediate  generation 
had  passed  away,  and  the  gap  yawned  fearfully  before  her. 
It  restored  her,  for  the  time,  perfectly  to  her  senses;  and 
she  gave  the  necessary  directions  on  the  melancholy  occa- 
sion, and  superintended  all  the  sad  ceremonials  befitting 
the  time,  with  a calm  and  dignified  resignation  which  im- 
pressed all  around  her  with  wonder  and  respect. 

Superadded  to  the  dismay  which  the  death  of  the  head  of 
a family  produces  was  the  terrible  fear  which  existed  that 
O'Grady's  body  would  be  seized  for  debt — a barbarous 
practice,  which,  shame  to  say,  is  still  permitted.  This 
fear  made  great  precaution  necessary  to  prevent  persons 
approaching  the  house,  and  accounts  for  the  extra  gruff- 
ness of  the  gate  porter.  The  wild  body-guard  of  the  wild 
chief  was  on  doubly  active  duty;  and  after  four-and-twenty 
hours  had  passed  over  the  reckless  boys,  the  interest  they 
took  in  sharing  and  directing  this  watch  and  ward  seemed 
to  outweigh  all  sorrowful  consideration  for  the  death  of 
their  father.  As  for  Gustavus,  the  consciousness  of  being 
now  the  master  of  Neck-or-nothing  Hall  was  apparent  in 
a boy  not  yet  fifteen;  and  not  only  in  himself,  but  in  the 
gray-headed  retainers  about  him,  this  might  be  seen : there 
was  a shade  more  of  deference — the  boy  was  merged  in 
“ the  young  master.  ” 

But  we  must  leave  the  house  of  mourning  for  the  pres- 
ent, and  follow  the  Widow  Rooney,  who,  as  she  tramped 
her  way  homeward,  was  increasing  in  hideousness  of  visage 
every  hour.  Her  nose  was  twice  its  usual  dimensions,  and 
one  eye  was  perfectly  useless  in  showing  her  the  road.  At 
last,  however,  as  evening  was  closing,  she  reached  her 
cabin,  and  there  was  Andy,  arrived  before  her,  and  telling 
Oonah,  his  cousin,  all  his  misadventures  of  the  preceding 
day. 

The  history  was  stopped  for  a while  by  their  mutual  ex- 


HANDY  ANDY* 


557 


planations  and  condolences  with  Mrs.  Rooney,  on  the 
cruel  way  her  poor  face  was  used.” 

“ And  who  done  it  all?”  said  Oonah. 

“ Who  but  that  born  devil,  Matty  Dwyer — and  sure  they 
towld  me  you  were  married  to  her,”  said,  she  to  Andy. 

“ So  I was,”  said  Andy,  beginning  the  account  of  his 
misfortunes  afresh  to  his  mother,  who  from  time  to  time 
would  break  in  with  indiscriminate  maledictions  on  Andy, 
as  well  as  his  forsworn  damsel;  and  when  the  account  was 
ended,  she  poured  out  a torrent  of  abuse  upon  her  un- 
fortunate forsaken  son,  which  riveted  him  to  the  floor  in 
utter  amazement. 

“ I thought  Fd  get  pity  here,  at  all  events,”  said  poor 
Andy;  “ but  instead  o'  that  it's  the  worst  word  and  the 
Hardest  name  in  your  jaw  you  have  for  me.  '' 

“ And  sarve  you  right,  you  dirty  cur,”  said  his  mother. 
“ I ran  off  like  a fool  when  I heerd  of  your  good  fortune, 
and  see  the  condition  that  baggage  left  me  in — my  teeth 
knocked  in  and  my  eye  knocked  out,  and  all  for  your 
foolery,  because  you  couldn't  keep  what  you  got.” 

“ Sure,  mother,  I tell  you — '' 

“ Howld  your  tongue,  you  omadhaun!  And  then  I go 
to  Squire  O'  Grady’s  to  look  for  you,  and  there  I hear  you 
lost  that  place  too.” 

“ Faix,  it's  little  loss,”  said  Andy. 

“ That's  all  you  know  about  it,  you  goose;  you  lose  the 
place  just  when  the  man's  dead  and  you'd  have  had  a shuit 
o'  mournin'.  Oh,  you  are  the  most  misfortunate  divil, 
Andy  Rooney,  this  day  in  Ireland — why  did  I rear  you  at 

“ Squire  O'Grady  dead!”  said  Andy,  in  surprise  and 
also  with  regret  for  his  late  master. 

“ Yis — and  you've  lost  the  mournin' — augh!” 

“ Oh,  the  poor  Squire!”  said  Andy. 

“ The  illigant  new  clothes!”  grumbled  Mrs.  Rooney. 
“ And  then  luck  tumbles  into  your  way  such  as  man  never 
had;  without  a place,  or  a rap  to  bless  yourself  with,  you 
get  a rich  man's  daughter  for  your  wife,  and  you  let  her 
slip  through  your  fingers. '' 

‘ How  could  I help  it?”  said  Andy. 

“ Augh!  you  bothered  the  job  just  the  way  you  do  every^ 
thing,”  said  his  mother. 

“Sure  I was  civil-spoken  to  her.” 


358 


KAHDY  AKDY. 


iC  Augh!”  said  his  mother. 

“ And  took  no  liberty.” 

“ You  goose!” 

cc  And  called  her  miss.” 

“ Oh,,  indeed  you  missed  it  altogether.’ 5 
“ And  said  I wasn’t  desarvin’  of  her/9 
“ That  was  thrue— but  you  should  not  have  towld  her 
so.  Make  a woman  think  you’re  betther  than  her,  and 
sheTl  like  you.” 

“ And  sure,  when  I endayvored  to  make  myself  agreea- 
ble to  her — ” 

“ Endayvored  /”  repeated  the  old  woman  contemptu- 
ously. “ Endayvored , indeed!  Why  didn’t  you  make 
yourself  agreeable  at  once,  you  poor  dirty  goose — no,  but 
you  went  sneaking  about  it — I know  as  well  as  if  I was 
looking  at  you — you  went  sneakin’  and  snivelin’  until  the 
girl  took  a disgust  to  you;  for  there’s  nothing  a woman 
despises  so  much  as  shilly-shallying.” 

66  Sure,  you  won’t  dear  my  defince,”  said  Andy. 

“ Oh,  indeed  you’re  betther  at  defince  than  attack,” 
said  his  mother. 

“ Sure,  the  first  little  civil’ty  I wanted  to  pay  to  her,  she 
took  up  the  three-legged  stool  to  me.  ” 

“ The  divil  mend  you!  And  what  civil’ ty  did  you  offer 
her?” 

“ I made  a grab  at  her  cap,  and  I thought  she’d  have 
brained  me.” 

Oonah  set  up  such  a shout  of  laughter  at  Andy’s  notion 
of  civility  to  a girl,  that  the  conversation  was  stopped  for 
some  time,  and  her  aunt  remonstrated  with  her  at  her  want 
of  common  sense;  or,  as  she  said,  hadn’t  she  “ more  da- 
cency  than  to  laugh  at  the  poor  fool’s  nonsense?” 

“ What  could  I do  agen  the  three-legged  stool?”  said 
Andy. 

“ Where  was  your  own  legs,  and  your  own  arms,  and 
your  own  eyes,  and  your  own  tongue,  eh?” 

“ And  sure  I tell  you  it  was  all  ready  con  thrived,  and 
James  Casey  was  sent  for,  and  came.” 

“ Yis,”  said  the  mother,  “ but  not  for  a long  time,  you 
towld  me  yourself;  and  what  were  you  doing  all  that  time? 
Sure,  supposing  you  wor  only  a new  acquaintance,  any  man 
worth  a day’s  mate  would  have  discoorsed  her  over  in  the 
time  and  made  her  sinsible  he  was  the  best  of  husbands.” 


RAHDY  AKUY. 


359 


*'  I tell  you  she  wouldn't  let  me  have  her  ear  at  all/* 
said  Andy. 

1 " * n ^onah,  laughing. 


“ And  why  did  you  let  him  in?" 

“ It  was  she  let  him  in,  I tell  you." 

“ And  why  did  you  let  her?  He  was  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  door — that's  the  outside  ; and  you  on  the  right — 
that's  the  inside;  and  it  was  your  house,  and  she  was  your 
wife,  and  you  were  her  masther,  and  you  had  the  rights  of 
the  Church,  and  the  rights  of  the  law,  and  all  the  rights 
on  your  side;  barrin'  right  rayson — that  you  never  had; 
and  sure  without  that,  what's  the  use  of  all  the  other  rights 
in  the  world?" 

“ Sure,  hadn't  he  his  friends,  sthroncj,  outside?" 

“No  matther,  if  the  door  wasn't  opened  to  them,  for 
then  you  would  have  had  a stronger  friend  than  any  o' 
them  present  among  them." 

“ Who?"  inquired  Andy. 

“ The  hangman ,"  answered  his  mother;  “ for  breaking 
doors  is  hanging  matther;  and  I say  the  presence  of  the 
hangman's  always  before  people  when  they  have  such  a 
job  to  do,  and  makes  them  think  twice  sometimes  before 
they  smash  once;  and  so  you  had  only  to  keep  one  woman's 
hands  quiet." 

“ Faix,  some  of  them  would  smash  a door  as  soon  as 
not,"  said  Andy. 

“ Well,  then,  you'd  have  the  satisfaction  of'  hanging 
them,"  said  the  mother,  “ and  that  would  be  some  con- 
solation. But  even  as  it  is,  I'll  have  law  for  it — I will — 
for  the  property  is  yours,  anyhow,  though  the  girl  is  gone 
— and  indeed  a brazen  baggage  she  is,  and  is  mighty  heavy 
in  the  hand.  Oh,  my  poor  eye!  it's  like  a coal  of  fire — 
but  sure  it  was  worth  the  risk  living  with  her  for  the  sake 
of  the  purty  property.  And  sure  I was  thinkin'  what  a 

Pleasure  it  would  be  living  with  you,  and  tachin'  your  wife 
ousekeepin',  and  bringing  up  the  young  turkeys  and  the 
childhre — but,  och  hone,  you'll  never  do  a bit  o'  good,  you 
that  got  sitch  careful  bringin'  up,  Andy  Rooney!  Didn't 
I tache  you  manners,  you  dirty  hanginbone  blackguard? 
Didn't  I tache  you  your  blessed  religion?  may  the  divil 
sweep  you!  Did  I ever  prevent  you  from  sharing  the  lav- 
ings  of  the  pratees  with  the  pig?  and  didn't  you  often  clane 


360 


HANDY  ANDY* 


out  the  pot  with  him?  and  you’re  no  good  afther  all.  Vve 
turned  my  honest  penny  by  the  pig,  but  I’ll  never  make 
my  money  of  you , Andy  Rooney!” 

There  were  some  minutes’  silence  after  this  eloquent  out- 
break of  Andy’s  mother,  which  was  broken  at  last  by  Andy 
uttering  a long  sigh  and  an  ejaculation. 

“ Och!  it’s  a fine  thing  to  be  a gintleman,”  said  Andy. 

“ Cock  you  up!”  said  his  mother.  “ Maybe  it’s  a gii> 
tleman  you  want  to  be;  what  puts  that  in  your  head,  you 
omadhaivn  ?” 

“ Why,  because  a gintleman  has  no  hardships,  compared 
With  one  of  uz.  Sure,  if  a gintleman  was  married,  his 
wife  wouldn’t  be  tuk  off  from  him  the  way  mine  was.” 

“ Not  so  soon,  maybe,”  said  the  mother,  dryly. 

“ And  if  a gintleman  brakes  a horse’s  heart,  he’s  only  a 
* bowld  rider/  while  a poor  sarvant  is  a ‘ careless  black- 
guard ’ for  only  taking  a sweat  out  of  him.  If  a gintle- 
man dhrinks  till  he  can’t  see  a hole  in  a laddher,  he’s  only 
‘fresh/  but  ‘ dhrunk  ’ is  the  word  for  a poor  man.  And 
if  a gintleman  kicks  up  a row,  he’s  a ‘ fine  sperited  fellow,’ 
while  a poor  man  is  a ‘ disordherly  vagabone  ’ for  the 
same;  and  the  justice  axes  the  one  to  dinner  and  sends  th’ 
other  to  jail.  Oh,  faix,  the  law  is  a dainty  lady;  she  takes 
people  by  the  hand  who  can  afford  to  wear  gloves,  but  peo- 
ple with  brown  fists  must  keep  their  distance.” 

“ I often  remark,”  said  his  mother,  “ that  fools  spake 
mighty  smsible  betimes;  but  their  wisdom  all  goes  with 
their  gab.  Why  didn’t  you  take  a betther  grip  of  your 
luck  when  you  had  it?  You’re  wishing  you  wor  a gintle- 
man, and  yet  when  you  had  the  best  part  of  a gintleman 
(the  property,  I mane)  put  into  your  way,  you  let  it  slip 
through  your  fingers;  and  aftherMettin’  a fellow  take  a 
rich  wife  from  you  and  turn  you  out  of  your  own  house, 
you  sit  down  ©n  a stool  there,  and  begin  to  wish  indeed! 
you  sneakin’  fool — wish,  indeed!  Och!  if  you  wish  with 
one  hand,  and  wash  with  th’  other,  which  will  be  clane 
first — eh?” 

“ What  could  I do  agen  eight?”  asked  Andy. 

“ Why  did  you  let  them  in,  I say  again?”  said  the 
mother,  quickly. 

“Sure  the  blame  wasn’t  with  me,”  said  Andy,  “ but 
With — ” 

“ Whisht,  whisht,  you  goose!”  said  his  mother.  “ Av 


HANDY  ANDY. 


§61 


course  you  *11  blame  every  one  and  everything  but  yourself 
- — ‘ The  losing  horse  blames  the  saddle.’  ” 

“ Well,  maybe  it's  all  for  the  best/'  said  Andy,  “ afther 
all." 

“ Augh,  howld  your  tongue!" 

“ And  if  it  zvasn’t  to  be,  how  could  it  be?" 

“ Listen  to  him!" 

“ And  Providence  is  over  us  all." 

“ Oh!  yis!"  said  the  mother.  “ When  fools  make  mis-^ 
takes  they  lay  the  blame  on  Providence.  How  have  you 
the  imjridence  to  talk  o’  Providence  in  that  manner?  I’ll 
tell  you  where  the  Providence  was.  Providence  sent  you 
to  Jack  Dwyer's,  and  kep  Jim  Casey  away,  and  put  the 
anger  into  owld  Jack's  heart — that's  what  the  Providence 
did!  and  made  the  opening  for  you  to  spake  up,  and  gave 
you  a wife — a wife  with  property  ! Ah,  there's  where  the 
Providence  was!  and  you  were  the  masther  of  a snug  house 
— that  was  Providence!  And  wouldn't  myself  have  been 
the  one  to  be  helping  you  in  the  farm — rearing  the  powits, 
milkin'  the  cow,  makin'  the  iligant  butther,  with  lavings 
of  butthermilk  for  the  pigs — the  sow  thriving,  and  the 
cocks  and  hens  cheering  your  heart  with  their  cacklin' — 
the  hank  o'  yarn  on  the  wheel,  and  a hank  of  ingins  up  the 
chimbley — oh!  there's  where  the  Providence  would  have 
been — that  would  have  been  Providence  indeed!  but  never 
tell  me  that  Providence  turned  you  out  of  the  house;  that 
was  your  own  goostherumfoodle 

“ Can't  he  take  the  law  o'  them,  aunt?"  inquired  Oonah. 

66  To  be  sure  he  can — and.  shall,  too,"  said  the  mother. 
“ I'll  be  off  to  'Torney  Murphy  to-morrow;  I'll  pursue  her 
for  my  eye,  and  Andy  for  the  property,  and  I'll  put  them 
all  in  Chancery,  the  villains!" 

“ It's  Newgate  they  ought  to  be  put  in,"  said  Andy. 

“ Tut,  you  fool.  Chancery  is  worse  than  Newgate;  for 
people  sometimes  get  out  of  Newgate,  but  they  never  get 
out  of  Chancery,  I hear." 

As  Mrs.  Rooney  spoke,  the  latch  of  the  door  was  raised, 
and  a miserably  clad  woman  entered,  closed  the  door  im- 
mediately after  her,  and  placed  the  bar  against  it.  The 
action  attracted  the  attention  of  all  the  inmates  of  the 
house,  for  the  doors  of  the  peasantry  are  universally  “ left 
on  the  latch,"  and  never  secured  against  intrusion  until  the 
family  go  to  bed. 


BANDY  AN£>¥. 


862 

“ God  save  all  here!”  said  the  woman,  as  she  approached 
the  fire. 

“ Oh,  is  that  you,  ragged  Nance?”  said  Mrs.  Rooney, 
for  that  was  the  unenviable  but  descriptive  title  the  new- 
comer was  known  by:  and  though  she  knew  it  for  her 
soubriquet , yet  she  also  knew  Mrs.  Rooney  would  not  call 
her  by  it  if  she  were  not  in  an  ill  temper,  so  she  began 
humbly  to  explain  the  cause  of  her  visit,  when  Mrs.  Rooney 
broke  in  gruffly — 

“ Oh,  you  always  make  out  a good  rayson  for  coming; 
but  we  have  nothing  for  you  to-night.” 

“ Throth,  you  do  me  wrong,”  said  the  beggar,  “ if  you 
think  I came  shooting.*  I Vs  only  to  keep  harm  from  the 
innocent  girl  here.  ” 

“ Arrah,  what  harm  would  happen  her,  woman?”  re- 
turned the  widow,  savagely,  rendered  more  morose  by  the 
humble  bearing  of  her  against  whom  she  directed  her 
severity;  as  if  she  got  more  angry  the  less  the  poor  creature 
Would  give  her  cause  to  justify  her  harshness.  “ Isn’t 
she  undher  my  roof  here?” 

“ But  how  long  may  she  be  left  there?”  asked  the 
woman,  significantly. 

“ What  do  you  mane,  woman?” 

“ I mane  there’s  a plan  to  carry  her  off  from  you  to- 
night.” 

Oonah  grew  pale  with  true  terror,  and  the  widow 
screeched,  after  the  more  approved  manner  of  elderly  ladies 
making  believe  they  are  very  much  shocked,  till  Nance 
reminded  her  that  crying  would  do  no  good,  and  that  it 
was  requisite  to  make  some  preparation  against  the  ap- 
proaching danger.  Various  plans  were  hastdy  suggested, 
and  as  hastily  relinquished,  till  Nance  advised  a measure 
which  was  deemed  the  best.  It  was  to  dress  Andy  in 
female  attire  and  let  him  be  carried  off  in  place  of  the  girl. 
Andy  roared  with  laughter  at  the  notion  of  being  made  a 
girl  of,  and  said  the  trick  would  instantly  be  seen  through. 

“ Not  if  you  act  your  part  well;  just  keep  down  the 
giggle,  jewel,  and  put  on  a moderate  phillelew , and  do  the 
thing  nice  and  steady,  and  you’ll  be  the  saving  of  your 
cousin  here.  ” 

“ You  may  deceive  them  with  the  dliress;  and  I may  do 


♦Going  on  chance  here  and  there,  to  pick  up  what  one  can. 


fiANDY  AHD¥# 


m 


a bit  of  a small  shilloo , like  a colleen  in  disthress,  and  that’s 
all  very  well/’  said  Andy,  “ as  far  as  seeing  and  hearing 
goes;  but  when  they  come  to  grip  me,  sure  they’ll  find  out 
in  a minute.” 

“ We’ll  stuff  you  out  well  with  rags  and  sthraw,  and 
they’ll  never  know  the  differ — besides,  remember,  the  fel- 
low that  wants  a girl  never  comes  for  her  himself/  but 
sends  his  friends  for  her,  and  they  won’t  know  the  differ— 
besides,  they’re  all  dhrunk.  ” 

“ How  do  you  know?” 

“ Because  they’re  always  dhrunk — that  same  crew;  and 
if  they’re  not  dhrunk  to-night,  it’s  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  they  ever  were  sober.  So  make  haste,  now,  and  put 
off  your  coat,  till  we  make  a purty  young  colleen  out  o’ 
you.” 

It  occurred  now  to  the  widow  that  it  was  a service  of 
great  danger  Andy  was  called  on  to  perform;  and  with  all 
her  abuse  of  “ omadhaun ,”  she  did  not  like  the  notion  of 
putting  him  in  the  wTay  of  losing  his  life,  perhaps. 

“ They’ll  murdher  the  boy,  may  be,  when  they  find  out 
the  chate,”  said  the  widow. 

“ Not  a bit,”  said  Nance. 

“And  suppose  they  did,”  said  Andy,  “ I’d  rather  die, 
sure,  than  the  disgrace  should  fall  upon  Oonah,  there.” 

“ God  bless  you,  Andy  dear!”  said  Oonah.  “ Sure,  you 
have  the  kind  heart,  anyhow;  but  I wouldn’t  for  the  world 
hurt  or  harm  should  come  to  you  on  my  account.” 

“ Oh,  don’t  be  afeard!”  said  Andy,  cheerily;  “ divil  a 
hair  I value  all  they  can  do;  so  dhress  me  up  at  once.” 

After  some  more  objections  on  the  part  of  his  mother, 
which  Andy  overruled,  the  women  all  joined  in  making  up 
Andy  into  as  tempting  an  imitation  of  feminality  as  "they 
could  contrive;  but  to  bestow  the  roundness  of  outline  on 
the  angular  form  of  Andy  was  no  easy  matter,  and  required 
more  rags  than  the  house  afforded,  so  some  straw  was  in- 
dispensable, which  the  pig’s  bed  only  could  supply.  In 
the  midst  of  their  fears,  the  women  eould  not  help  laugh- 
ing as  they  effected  some  likeness  to  their  own  forms,  with 
their  stuffing  and  padding;  but  to  carry  off  the  width  of 
Andy’s  shoulders  required  a very  ample  and  voluptuous 
outline  indeed,  and  Andy  could  not  help  wishing  the  straw 


# This  is  mostly  the  case. 


364 


fiASTDY  AKDY. 


was  a little  sweeter  which  they  were  packing  under  his 
nose.  At  last,  however,  after  soaping  down  his  straggling 
hair  on  his  forehead,  and  tying  a bonnet  upon  his  head  to 
shade  his  face  as  much  as  possible,  the  disguise  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  next  move  was  to  put  Oonah  in  a place  of 
safety. 

“ Get  upon  the  hurdle  in  the  corner,  under  the  thatch/'' 
said  Nance. 

“ Oh,  Fd  be  afeard  o'  my  life  to  stay  in  the  house  at 
all. " 

“ You'd  be  safe  enough,  I tell  you/'  said  Nance;  “ for 
once  they  see  that  fine  young  woman  there/'  pointing  to 
Andy,  and  laughing,  “ they'll  be  satisfied  with  the  lob 
we've  made  for  them. " 

Oonah  still  expressed  her  fear  of  remaining  in  the  cabin. 

“ Then  hide  in  the  pratee-trench,  behind  the  house." 

“ That's  better,"  said  Oonah. 

“And  now  I must  be  going, " said  Nance;  “for  they 
must  not  see  me  when  they  come. " 

“ Oh,  don't  leave  me,  Nance  dear,"  cried  Oonah,  “ for 
I'm  sure  I'll  faint  with  the  fright  when  I hear  them  com- 
ing, if  some  one  is  not  with  me. " 

Nance  yielded  to  Oonah 's  fears  and  entreaties,  and  with 
many  a blessing  and  boundless  thanks  for  the  beggar- 
woman's  kindness,  Oonah  led  the  way  to  the  little  potato 
garden  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  there  the  women 
squatted  themselves  in  one  of  the  trenches  and  awaited  the 
impending  event. 

It  was  not  long  in  arriving.  The  tramp  of  approaching 
horses  at  a sharp  pace  rang  through  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  and  the  women,  crouching  flat  beneath  the  over- 
spreading branches  of  the  potato  tops,  lay  breathless  in  the 
bottom  of  the  trench,  as  the  riders  came  up  to  the  widow's 
cottage  and  entered.  There  they  found  the  widow  and  her 

Eseudo  niece  sitting  at  the  fire;  and  three  drunken  vaga- 
onds,  for  the  fourth  was  holding  the  horses  outside,  cut 
some  fantastic  capers  round  the  cabin,  and  making  a mock 
obeisance  to  the  widow,  the  spokesman  addressed  her  with: 
“ Your  sarvant,  ma'am!" 

“ Who  are  yiz  at  all,  gintlemin,  that  comes  to  my  place 
at  this  time  o'  night,  and  what's  your  business?" 

“ We  want  the  loan  o'  that  young  woman  there, 
ma'am,"  said  the  ruffian. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


365 


Andy  and  his  mother  both  uttered  small  squalls. 

“ And  as  for  who  we  are,  ma'am,  we're  the  blessed  soci- 
ety of  Saint  Joseph,  ma  ’am — our  coat-of-arms  is  two  heads 
upon  one  pillow,  and  our  motty,  ‘ Who's  afraid? — Hur- 
roo!' " shouted  the  savage,  and  he  twirled  his  stick  and 
cut  another  caper.  Then  coming  up  to  Andy,  he  addressed 
him  as  “ young  woman,"  and  said  there  was  a fine  strap- 
ping fellow  whose  heart  was  breaking  till  he  “ rowled  her 
in  his  arms. " 

Andy  and.  the  mother  both  acted  their  parts  very  well. 
He  rushed  to  the  arms  of  the  old  woman  for  protection, 
and  screeched  small,  while  the  widow  shouted  “ millia 
murther!”  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  and  did  not  give  up  her 
hold  of  the  make-believe  young  woman  until  her  cap  was 
torn  half  off,  and  her  hair  streamed  about  her  face.  She 
called  on  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  as  she  knelt  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  and  rocked  to  and  fro,  with  her  clasped 
hands  raised  to  heaven,  calling  down  curses  on  the  “ vil- 
lains and  robbers  " that  were  tearing  her  child  from  her, 
while  they  threatened  to  stop  her  breath  altogether  if  she 
did  not  make  less  noise,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  uproar 
dragged  off  Andy,  whose  struggles  and  despair  might  have 
excited  the  suspicion  of  soberer  men.  They  lifted  him  up 
on  a stout  horse,  in  front  of  the  most  powerful  man  of  the 
party,  who  gripped  Andy  hard  round  the  middle  and 
pushed  his  horse  to  a hand  gallop,  followed  by  the  rest  of 
the  party.  The  proximity  of  Andy  to  his  cavaliero  made 
the  latter  sensible  to  the  bad  odor  of  the  pig's  bed,  which 
formed  Andy's  luxurious  bust  and  bustle;  but  he  attributed 
the  unsavory  scent  to  a bad  breath  on  the  lady's  part,  and 
would  sometimes  address  his  charge  thus: 

“ Young  woman,  if  you  plaze,  would  you  turn  your  lace 
th'  other  wray;"  then  in  a side  soliloquy,  “ By  Jaker,  I 
wondher  at  Jack's  taste — she's  a fine  lump  of  a girl,  but 
her  breath  is  murdher  intirely — phew — young  woman,  turn 
away  your  face,  or  by  this  and  that  I'll  fall  off  the  horse. 
I've  heerd  of  a bad  breath  that  might  knock  a man  down, 
but  I never  met  it  till  now.  Oh,  murdher!  it's  worse  it's 
growin' — I suppose  'tis  the  bumpin'  she's  gettin'  that 
shakes  the  breath  out  of  her  sthrong — oh,  there  it  is  again 
— phew!" 

It  was  as  well,  perhaps,  for  the  prosecution  of  the  deceit, 
that  the  distaste  the  fellow  conceived  for  his  charge  pre- 


366 


HAKDY  ANDY. 


vented  any  closer  approaches  to  Andy's  visage,  which  might 
have  dispelled  the  illusion  under  which  he  still  pushed  for- 
ward to  the  hills  and  bumped  poor  Andy  toward  the  termi- 
nation of  his  ride.  Keeping  a sharp  lookout  as  he  went 
along,  Andy  soon  was  able  to  perceive  they  were  making 
for  that  wild  part  of  the  hills  where  he  had  discovered  the 
private  still  on  the  night  of  his  temporary  fright  and  im- 
aginary rencounter  with  the  giants,  and  the  conversation  he 
partly  overheard  all  recurred  to  him,  and  he  saw  at  once 
that  Oonahwas  the  person  alluded  to,  whose  name  he  could 
not  catch,  a circumstance  that  cost  him  many  a conjecture 
in  the  interim.  This  gave  him  a clew  to  the  persons  into 
whose  power  he  was  about  to  fall,  after  having  so  far  de- 
feated their  scheme,  and  he  saw  he  should  have  to  deal 
with  very  desperate  and  lawless  parties.  Remembering, 
moreover,  the  herculean  frame  of  the  inamorato,  he  calcu- 
lated on  an  awful  thrashing  as  the  smallest  penalty  he 
should  have  to  pay  for  deceiving  him,  but  was,  neverthe- 
less, determined  to  go  through  the  adventure  with  a good 
heart,  to  make  deceit  serve  his  turn  as  long  as  he  might, 
and  at  last,  if  necessary,  to  make  the  best  fight  he  could. 

As  it  happened,  luck  favored  Andy  in  his  adventure,  for 
the  hero  of  the  blunderbuss  (and  he,  it  will  be  remembered, 
was  the  love-sick  gentleman)  drank  profusely  on  the  night 
in  question,  quaffing  deep  potations  to  the  health  of  his 
Oonah,  wishing  luck  to  his  friends  and  speed  to  their 
horses,  and  every  now  and  then  ascending  the  ladder  from 
the  cave,  and  looking  out  for  the  approach  of  the  party. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  from  the  unsteadiness  of  the 
ladder,  or  himself,  or  perhaps  both,  his  foot  slipped,  and 
he  came  to  the  ground  with  a heavy  fall,  in  which  his  head 
received  so  severe  a blow  that  he  became  insensible,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  his  sister,  who  was  an  inhabitant  of 
this  den,  could  restore  him  to  consciousness.  This  she  did, 
however,  and  the  savage  recovered  all  the  senses  the  whisky 
had  left  him;  but  still  the  stunning  effect  of  the  fall  cooled 
his  courage  considerably,  and,  as  it  were,  “ bothered  " him 
co , that  he  felt  much  less  of  the  “ gallant  gay  Lothario 
than  he  had  done  before  the  accident. 

The  tramp  of  horses  was  heard  overhead  ere  long,  and 
Shan  More , or  Big  John,  as  the  Hercules  was  called,  told 
Bridget  to  go  up  to  “ the  darlinV*  and  help  her  down. 

“ JFor  that's  a blackguard  laddher/'  said  he;  “ it  turned 


HANDY  ANDY. 


367 


undher  me  like  an  eel,  bad  luck  to  it!  tell  her  Fd  go  up 
myself,  only  the  ground  is  slipping  from  undher  me — and 
the  laddher — ” 

Bridget  went  off,  leaving  Jack  growling  forth  anathemas 
against  the  ground  and  the  ladder,  and  returned  speedily 
with  the  mock-lady  and  her  attendant  squires. 

4 4 Oh,  my  jewel  !"  roared  Jack,  as  he  caught  sight  of  his 
prize.  He  scrambled  up  on  his  legs,  and  made  a rush  at 
Andy,  who  imitated  a womans  scream  and  fright  at  the 
expected  embrace;  but  it  was  with  much  greater  difficulty 
he  suppressed  his  laughter  at  the  headlong  fall  with  which 
Big  Jack  plunged  his  head  into  a heap  of  turf,*  and  hugged 
a sack  of  malt  which  lay  beside  it. 

Andy  endeavored  to  overcome  the  provocation  to  merri- 
ment by  screeching;  and  as  Bridget  caught  the  sound  of 
this  tendency  toward  laughter  between  the  screams,  she 
thought  it  was  the  commencement  of  a fit  of  hysterics,  and 
it  accounted  all  the  better  for  Andy's  extravagant  antics. 

“ Oh,  the  craythur  is  frightened  out  of  her  life!”  said 
Bridget.  “ Leave  her  to  me,”  said  she  to  the  men. 
“ There,  jewel  machree!”  she  continued  to  Andy,  sooth- 
ingly, “ don't  take  on  you  that  way — don't  be  afeerd, 
you're  among  friends— Jack  is  onlydhrunk  dhrinking  your 
health,  darlin',  but  he  adores  you.''  Andy  screeched. 

“ But  don't  be  afeerd,  you'll  be  thrated  tender,  and 
he'll  marry  you,  darlin',  like  an  honest  woman!” 

Andy  squalled. 

46  But  not  to-night,  jewel — don't  be  frightened.” 

' Andy  gave  a heavy  sob  at  the  respite. 

“ Boys,  will  you  lift  Jack  out  o'  the  turf,  and  carry  him 
up  into  the  air?  'twill  be  good  for  him,  and  thisdacent  girl 
will  sleep  with  me  to-night.  ” 

Andy  couldn't  resist  a laugh  at  this,  and  Bridget  feared 
the  girl  was  going  off  into  hysterics  again. 

“ Aisy,  dear — aisy — sure  you'll  be  safe  with  me.” 

“Ow!  ow!  ow!”  shouted  Andy. 

“ Oh,  murther!”  cried  Bridget,  “ the  sterricks  will  be 
the  death  of  hei  ] You  blackguards,  you  frightened  her 
coming  up  here,  I'm  sure.'' 

The  men  swore  they  behaved  in  the  genteelest  manner. 


* Peat. 


368 


HANDY  ANDY. 


€C  Well,  talre  away  Jack,  and  the  girl  shall  have  share  ot 
my  bed  for  this  night. 15 

Andy  shook  internally  with  laughter. 

“ Dear,  dear,  how  she  thrimbles!”  cried  Bridget. 
“ Don't  be  so  frightful,  lamia  machree — there,  now— * 
they're  taking  Jack  away,  and  you're  alone  with  myself 
and  will  have  a nice  sleep." 

The  men  all  the  time  were  removing  Shan  More  to  upper 
air;  and  the  last  sounds  they  heard  as  they  left  the  cave 
were  the  coaxing  tones  of  Bridget's  voice,  inviting  Andy, 
in  the  softest  words,  to  go  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  workshops  of  Neck-or-nothing  Hall  rang  with  the 
sounds  of  occupation  for  two  days  after  the  demise  of  its 
former  master.  The  hoarse  grating  sound  of  the  saw,  the 
whistling  of  the  plane,  and  the  stroke  of  the  mallet  denot- 
ed the  presence  of  the  carpenter;  and  the  sharper  clink  of 
a hammer  told  of  old  Fogy,  the  family  “ milliner,"  being 
at  work;  but  it  was  not  on  millinery  Fogy  was  now  em- 

K,  though  neither  was  it  legitimate  tinker's  work. 

is  scrolling  out  with  his  shears,  and  beating  into 
form,  a plate  of  tin,  to  serve  for  the  shield  on  O'Grady' s 
coffin,  which  was  to  record  his  name,  age,  and  day  of  de- 
parture; and  this  was  the  second  plate  on  which  the  old 
man  worked,  for  one  was  already  finished  in  the  corner. 
Why  are  there  two  coffin-plates?  Enter  the  carpenter's 
shop,  and  you  will  see  the  answer  in  two  coffins  the  car- 
penter has  nearly  completed.  But  why  two  coffins  for  one 
death?  Listen,  reader,  to  a bit  of  Irish  strategy. 

It  has  been  stated  that  an  apprehension  was  entertained 
of  a seizure  of  the  inanimate  body  of  O'Grady  for  the  debts 
it  had  contracted  in  life,  and  the  harpy  nature  of  the 
money-lender  from  whom  this  movement  was  dreaded  war- 
ranted the  fear.  Had  O' Grady  been  popular,  such  a meas- 
ure on  the  part  of  a cruel  creditor  might  have  been  defied, 
as  the  surrounding  peasantry  would  have  risen  en  masse  to 

E revent  it;  but  the  hostile  position  in  which  he  had  placed 
imself  toward  the  people  alienated  the  natural  affection 
they  are  born  with  for  their  chiefs,  and  any  partial  defense 
the  few  fierce  retainers  whom  individual  interest  had  at- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


369 


tached  to  him  could  have  made  might  have  been  insuffi- 
cient; therefore,  to  save  his  father’s  remains  from  the  pol- 
lution (as  the  son  considered)  of  a bailiff’s  touch,  Gustavus 
determined  to  achieve  by  stratagem  what  he  could  not  ac- 
complish by  force,  and  had  two  coffins  constructed,  the  one 
to  be  filled  with  stones  and  straw,  and  sent  out  by  the  front 
entrance  with  all  the  demonstration  of  a real  funeral,  and 
be  given  to  the  attack  it  was  feared  would  be  made  upon 
it;  while  the  other,  put  to  its  legitimate  use,  should  be 
placed  on  a raft,  and  floated  down  the  river  to  an  ancient 
burial-ground  which  lay  some  miles  below  on  the  opposite 
bank.  A facility  for  this  was  afforded  by  a branch  of 
the  river  running  up  into  the  domain,  as  it  will  be  remem- 
bered; and  the  scene  of  the  bearish  freaks  played  upon  Fur- 
long was  to  witness  a trick  of  a more  serious  nature. 

While  all  these  preparations  were  going  forward,  the 
“ waking  ” was  kept  up  in  all  the  barbarous  style  of  old 
times;  eating  and  drinking  in  profusion  went  on  in  the 
house,  and  the  kitchen  of  the  hall  rang  with  joviality. 
The  feats  of  sports  and  arms  of  the  man  who  had  passed 
away  were  lauded,  and  his  comparative  achievements  with 
those  of  his  progenitors  gave  rise  to  many  a stirring  anec- 
dote; and  bursts  of  barbarous  exultation,  or  more  barbar- 
ous merriment,  rang  in  the  house  of  death.  There  was  no 
lack  of  whisky  to  fire  the  brains  of  these  revelers,  for  the 
standard  of  the  measurement  of  family  grandeur  was,  too 
often,  a liquid  one  in  Ireland,  even  so  recently  as  the  time 
we  speak  of;  and  the  dozens  of  wine  wasted  during  the  life 
it  helped  to  shorten,  and  the  posthumous  gallons  consumed 
in  toasting  to  the  memory  of  the  departed,  were  among  the 
cherished  remembrances  of  hereditary  honor.  “ There 
were  two  hogsheads  of  whisky  drank  at  my  father’s  wake!” 
was  but  a moderate  boast  of  a true  Irish  squire,  fifty  years 
ago. 

And  now  the  last  night  of  the  wake  approached,  and  the 
retainers  thronged  to  honor  the  obsequies  of  their  departed 
chief  with  an  increased  enthusiasm,*  which  rose  in  propor- 
tion as  the  whisky  got  low;  and  songs  in  praise  of  their 
present  occupation — that  is — getting  drunk — rang  merrily 
round,  and  the  sports  of  the  field  and  the  sorrows  and  joys 
of  love  resounded;  in  short,  the  ruling  passions  of  life  fig- 
ured in  rhyme  and  music  in  honor  of  this  occasion  of  death 
—and  as  death  is  the  maker  of  widows,  a very  animated 


370 


HANDY  ANDY. 


discussion  on  the  subject  of  widowhood  arose,  which  afford- 
ed great  scope  for  the  rustic  wits,  and  was  crowned  by  the 
song  of  “ Widow  Machree  ” being  universally  called  for  by 
the  company;  and  a fine-looking  fellow  with  a merry  eye 
and  large  white  teeth,  which  he  amply  displayed  by  a wide 
mouth,  poured  forth  in  cheery  tones  a pretty  lively  air 
which  suited  well  the  humorous  spirit  of  the  words: — 

“WIDOW  MACHREE. 


i. 

4 Widow  machree,  it's  no  wonder  you  frown, 

Och  hone!  widow  machree: 

Faith,  it  ruins  your  looks,  that  same  dirty  black  gown, 
Och  hone!  widow  machree. 

How  altered  your  hair. 

With  that  close  cap  you  wear — 

’Tis  destroying  your  hair 

Which  should  be  Sowing  free: 

Be  no  longer  a churl 
Of  its  black  silken  curl, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree. 

n. 

44  Widow  machree,  now  the  summer  is  come, 

Och  hone!  widow  machree: 

When  everything  smiles,  should  a beauty  look  glum? 

Och  hone!  widow  machree. 

See  the  birds  go  in  pairs, 

And  the  rabbits  and  hares — 

Why  even  the  bears 

Now  in  couples  agree. 

And  the  mute  little  fish, 

Though  they  can’t  spake,  they  wish, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree.  s 

hi. 

" Widow  machree,  and  when  winter  comes  in,, 

Och  lione!  widow  machree, 

To  be  poking  the  fire  all  alone  is  a sin, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree. 

Sure  the  shovel  and  tongs 
To  each  other  belongs. 

And  the  kettle  sings  songs 

Full  of  family  glee. 

While  alone  with  your  cup, 

Like  a hermit  you  sup — 

Och  hone  l widow  machree. 


- n 


HANDY  ANDY.  J 


371 


IV. 

44  And  how  do  you  know,  with  the  comforts  I’ve  towld, 

Och  hone!  widow  machree, 

But  you’re  keeping  some  poor  fellow  out  in  the  cowld, 

Ocli  hone!  widow  machree. 

With  such  sins  on  your  head, 

Bure  your  peace  would  be  fled, 

Could  you  sleep  in  your  bed, 

Without  thinking  to  see 
Some  ghost  or  some  sprite, 

That  would  wake  you  each  night, 

Crying,  4 Och  hone ! widow  machree/ 

v. 

“ Then  take  my  advice,  darling  widow  machree, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree, 

And  with  my  advice,  faith  I wish  you’d  take  me, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree. 

You’d  have  me  to  desire 
Then  to  sit  by  the  fire ; 

And  sure  hope  is  no  liar 

In  whispering  to  me 
That  the  ghosts  would  depart. 

When  you’d  me  near  your  heart, 

Och  hone ! widow  machree.” 

The  singer  was  honored  with  a round  of  applause,  and 
his  challenge  for  another  lay  was  readily  answered,  and 
mirth  and  music  filled  the  night  and  ushered  in  the  dawn 
of  the  day  which  was  to  witness  the  melancholy  sight  of 
the  master  of  an  ample  mansion  being  made  the  tenant  of 
the  “ narrow  house.  ^ 

In  the  evening  of  that  day,  however,  the  wail  rose  loud 
and  long;  the  mirth  which  “ the  waking  99  permits  had 

Jjassed  away,  and  the  ulicany  or  funeral  cry,  told  that  the 
ifeless  chief  was  being  borne  from  his  hall.  That  wild  cry 
was  heard  even  by  the  party  who  were  waiting  to  make 
their  horrid  seizure,  and  for  that  party  the  stone-laden 
coffin  was  sent  with  a retinue  of  mourners  through  the  old 
iron  gate  of  the  principal  entrance,  while  the  mortal  re- 
mains were  borne  by  a smaller  party  to  the  river  inlet  and. 
placed  on  the  raft.  Half  an  hour  had  witnessed  a sham 
fight  on  the  part  of  0*  Grady^s  people  with  the  bailiffs  and 
their  followers,  who  made  the  seizure  they  intended,  and 
locked  up  their  prize  in  an  old  barn  to  which  it  had  beer 
conveyed,  until  some  engagement  on  the  part  of  the  heir 
should  liberate  it;  while  the  aforesaid  heir,  as  soon  as  the . 


372 


HANDY  ANDY. 


shadows  of  evening  had  shrouded  the  river  in  obscurity, 
conveyed  the  remains,  which  the  myrmidons  of  the  law 
fancied  they  possessed,  to  its  quiet  and  lonely  resting-place. 
The  raft  was  taken  in  tow  by  a boat  carrying  two  of  the 
boys,  and  pulled  by  four  lusty  retainers  of  the  departed 
chief,  while  Gustavus  himself  stood  on  the  raft,  astride 
over  the  coffin,  and  with  an  eel-spear,  which  had  afforded 
him  many  a day^s  sport,  performed  the  melancholy  task  of 
guiding  it.  It  was  a strangely  painful  yet  beautiful  sight 
to  behold  the  graceful  figure  of  the  fine  boy  engaged  in  this 
last  sad  duty;  with  dexterous  energy  he  plied  his  spear, 
now  on  this  side  and  now  on  that,  directing  the  course  of 
the  raft,  or  clearing  it  from  the  flaggers  which  interrupted 
its  passage  through  the  narrow  inlet.  This  duty  he  had  to 
attend  to  for  some  time,  even  after  leaving  the  little  inlet; 
for  the  river  was  much  overgrown  with  flaggers  at  this 
point,  and  the  increasing  darkness  made  the  task  more 
difficult. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  action  not  one  word  was  spoken; 
even  the  sturdy  boatmen  were  mute,  and  the  fall  of  the  oar 
in  the  rowlock,  the  plash  of  the  water,  and  the  crushing 
sound  of  the  yielding  rushes  as  the  “ watery  bier  ” made 
its  way  through  them  were  the  only  sounds  which  broke 
the  silence.  Still  Gustavus  betrayed  no  emotion;  but  by 
the  time  they  reached  the  open  stream,  and  that  his  per- 
sonal exertion  was  no  longer  required,  a change  came  over 
him.  It  was  night — the  measured  beat  of  the  oars  sound- 
ed like  a knell  to  him — there  was  darkness  above  him  and 
death  below,  and  he  sunk  down  upon  the  coffin,  and  plung- 
ing his  face  passionately  between  his  hands,  he  wept  bit- 
terly. Sad  were  the  thoughts  that  oppressed  the  brain  and 
wrung  the  heart  of  the  high-spirited  boy.  He  felt  that  his 
dead  father  was  escaping , as  it  were,  to  the  grave — that 
even  death  did  not  terminate  the  consequences  of  an  ill- 
spent  life.  He  felt  like  a thief  in  the  night,  even  in  the 
execution  of  his  own  stratagem,  and  the  bitter  thoughts  of 
that  sad  and  solemn  time  wrought  a potent  spell  over  after- 
years; that  one  hour  of  misery  and  disgrace  influenced  the 
entire  of  a future  life. 

On  a small  Dili  overhanging  the  river  was  the  ruin  of  an 
ancient  early  temple  of  Christianity,  and  to  its  surround- 
ing burial-ground  a few  of  the  retainers  had  been  dis- 
patched to  prepare  a gra\e.  They  were  engaged  in  this 


SAHDY  ANDY* 


373 


task  by  the  light  of  a torch  made  of  bog -pine,  when  the 
flicker  of  the  flame  attracted  the  eye  of  a horseman  who 
was  riding  slowly  along  the  neighboring  road.  Wondering 
what  could  be  the  cause  of  light  in  such  a place,  he  leaped 
the  adjoining  fence  and  rode  up  to  the  grave-yard. 

“ What  are  you  doing  here?”  he  said  to  the  laborers. 
They  paused  and  looked  up,  and  the  flash  of  the  torch  fell 
upon  the  features  of  Edward  O'Connor. 

“ We’re  finishing  your  work,”  said  one  of  the  men  with 
malicious  earnestness. 

“ My  work?”  repeated  Edward. 

“ Yes/*  returned  the  man,  more  sternly  than  before — 
“ this  is  the  grave  of  0* Grady.” 

The  words  went  like  an  ice-bolt  through  Edward’s  heart, 
and  even  by  the  torchlight  the  tormentor  could  see  his  vic- 
tim grew  livid. 

The  fellow  who  wounded  so  deeply  one  so  generally  be- 
loved as  Edward  O'Connor  was  a thorough  ruffian.  His 
answer  to  Edward's  query  sprung  not  from  love  of 
O' Grady,  nor  abhorrence  of  taking  human  life,  but  from 
the  opportunity  of  retort  which  the  occasion  offered  upon 
one  who  had  once  checked  him  in  an  act  of  brutality. 

Yet  Edward  O'Connor  could  not  reply — it  was  a home 
thrust.  The  death  of  O'Grady  had  weighed  heavily 
upon  him;  for  though  O' Grady's  wound  had  been  given  in 
honorable  combat,  provoked  by  his  own  fury,  and  not  pro- 
ducing immediate  death;  though  that  death  had  super- 
vened upon  the  subsequent  intractability  of  the  patient; 
yet  the  fact  that  O' Grady  had  never  been  “ up  and  doing  " 
since  the  duel  tended  to  give  the  impression  that  his  wound 
was  the  remote  if  not  the  immediate  cause  of  his  death,  and 
this  circumstance  weighed  heavily  on  Edward's  spirits. 
His  friends  told  him  he  felt  over-keenly  upon  the  subject, 
and  that  no  one  but  himself  could  entertain  a question  of 
his  total  innocence  of  0 'Grady's  death;  but  when  from  the 
lips  of  a common  peasant  he  got  the  answer  he  did,  and 
that  beside  the  grave  of  his  adversary,  it  will  not  be  won- 
dered at  that  he  reeled  in  his  saddle.  A cold  shivering 
sickness  came  over  him,  and  to  avoid  falling  he  alighted 
and  leaned  for  support  against  his  horse,  which  stooped, 
when  freed  from  the  restraint  of  the  rein,  to  browse  on  the 
rank  verdure;  and  for  a moment  Edward  envied  the  uncon- 


874 


HAtfDY  A HDY. 


sciousness  of  the  animal  against  which  he  leaned.  He 
pressed  his  forehead  against  the  saddle,  and  from  the  depth 
of  a bleeding  heart  came  up  an  agonized  exclamation. 

A gentle  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder  as  he  spoke,  and, 
turning  round,  he  beheld  Mr.  Bermingham. 

66  What  brings  you  here?”  said  the  clergyman. 

“ Accident/ ' answered  Edward.  “ But  why  should  I 
say  accident?  it  is  by  a higher  authority  and  a better — it  is 
the  will  of  Heaven.  It  is  meant  as  a bitter  lesson  to 
human  pride:  we  make  for  ourselves  laws  of  honor,  and 
forget  the  laws  of  God!” 

66  Be  calm,  my  young  friend,”  said  the  worthy  pastor; 
“ I can  not  wonder  you  feel  deeply — but  command  your- 
self.” He  pressed  Edward's  hand  as  he  spoke  and  left 
him,  for  he  knew  that  an  agony  so  keen  is  not  benefited  by 
companionship. 

Mr.  Bermingham  was  there  by  appointment  to  perform 
the  burial-service,  and  he  had  not  left  Edward's  side  many 
minutes  when  a long  wild  whistle  from  the  waters  announced 
the  arrival  of  the  boat  and  raft,  and  the  retainers  ran  down 
to  the  river,  leaving  the  pine-torch  stuck  in  the  upturned 
earth,  waving  its  warm  blaze  over  the  cold  grave.  During 
the  interval  which  ensued  between  the  departure  of  the  men 
and  their  reappearance,  bearing  the  body  to  its  last  resting- 
place,  Mr.  Bermingham  spoke  with  Edward  O'Connor, 
and  soothed  him  into  a more  tranquil  bearing.  When  the 
coffin  came  within  view  he  advanced  to  meet  it,  and  began 
the  sublime  burial-service,  which  he  repeated  most  impres- 
sively. When  it  was  over,  the  men  commenced  filling  up 
the  grave.  As  the  clods  fell  upon  the  coffin,  they  smote 
the  hearts  of  the  dead  man's  children;  yet  the  boys  stood 
upon  the  verge  of  the  grave  as  long  as  a vestige  of  the 
tenement  of  their  lost  father  could  be  seen;  but  as  soon  as 
the  coffin  was  hidden,  they  withdrew  from  the  brink,  and 
the  younger  boys,  each  taking  hold  of  the  hand  of  the 
eldest,  seemed  to  imply  the  need  of  mutual  dependence: — 
as  if  death  had  drawn  closer  the  bond  of  brotherhood. 

There  was  no  sincerer  mourner  at  that  place  than  Ed- 
ward O'Connor,  who  stood  aloof,  in  respect  for  the  feelings 
of  the  children  of  the  departed  man,  till  the  grave  was 
quite  filled  up,  and  all  were  about  to  leave  the  spot;  but 
then  his  feelings  overmastered  him,  and,  impelled  by  a 
torrent  of  contending  emotions,  he  rushed  forward*  and 


HANDY  ANDY. 


375 


throwing  himself  on  his  knees  before  Gustavus,  he  held  up 
his  hands  imploringly,  and  sobbed  forth,  “ Forgive  me!” 
The  astonished  boy  drew  back. 

“ Oh,  forgive  me!”  repeated  Edward — “I  could  not 
help  it — it  was  forced  on  me — it  was — ” 

As  he  struggled  for  utterance,  even  the  rough  retainers 
were  touched,  and  one  of  them  exclaimed,  “ Oh,  Mr. 
0* Connor,  it  was  a fair  fight !'' 

“ There!”  exclaimed  Edward — “ you  hear  it!  Oh, give 
me  your  hand  in  forgiveness!” 

“ I forgive  you,”  said  the  boy,  “ but  do  not  ask  me  to 
give  you  my  hand  to-night.  ” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  Edward,  springing  to  his  feet — 
“ you  are  right — you  are  a noble  fellow;  and  now,  remem- 
ber my  parting  words,  Gustavus:  Here,  by  the  side  of  your 
father's  grave,  I pledge  you  my  soul  that  through  life  and 
till  death,  in  all  extremity,  Edward  O'Connor  is  your  sworn 
and  trusty  friend.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

While  the  foregoing  scene  of  sadness  took  place  in  the 
lone  churchyard,  unholy  watch  was  kept  over  the  second 
coffin  by  the  myrmidons  of  the  law.  The  usurer  who  made 
the  seizure  had  brought  down  from  Dublin  three  of  the 
most  determined  bailiffs  from  amongst  the  tribe,  and  to 
their  care  was  committed  the  keeping  of  the  supposed  body 
in  the  old  barn.  Associated  with  these  worthies  were  a 
couple  of  ill-conditioned  country  blackguards,  who,  for  the 
sake  of  a bottle  of  whisky,  would  keep  company  with  Old 
Nick  himself,  and  who  expected,  moreover,  to  hear  “ a 
power  o'  news”  from  the  “gentlemen”  from  Dublin, 
who  in  their  turn  did  not  object  to  have  their  guard 
strengthened,  as  their  notions  of  a rescue  in  the  country 
parts  of  Ireland  were  anything  but  agreeable.  The  night 
was  cold,  so,  clearing  away  from  one  end  of  the  barn  the 
sheaves  of  corn  with  which  it  was  stored,  they  made  a turf 
fire,  stretched  themselves  on  a good  shake-down  of  straw 
before  the  cheering  blaze,  and  circulated  among  them  the 
whisky,  of  which  they  had  a good  store.  A tap  at  the  door 
announced  a new-comer;  but  the  Dublin  bailiffs,  fearing  a 
surprise,  hesitated  to  open  to  the  knock  until  their  country 
allies  assured  them  it  was  a friend  whose  voice  they  recog- 


376 


MAHDY  ASTI)?. 


nized.  The  door  was  opened,  and  in  walked  Larry  Hogan, 
to  pick  up  his  share  of  what  was  going,  whatever  it  might 
be,  saying — 

“ I thought  you  wor  for  keeping  me  out  altogether.” 

cc  The  gintlemin  from  Dublin  was  af eared  of  what  they 
call  a riskya  ” (rescue)  said  the  peasant,  “ till  I told  them 
'twas  a friend.” 

“ Divil  a riskya  will  come  near  you  to-night,”  said 
Larry,  “ you  may  make  your  minds  aisy  about  that,'  for 
the  people  doesn't  care  enough  about  Ms  bones  to  get  their 
own  broke  in  savin'  him,  and  no  wondher.  It's  a lan- 
fherumswash  bully  he  always  was,  quiet  as  he  is  now. 
And  there  you  are,  my  bold  Squire,"  said  he,  apostrophiz- 
ing the  coffin  which  had  been  thrown  on  a heap  of  sheaves. 
u jFaix,  it's  a good  kitchen  you  kep',  anyhow,  whenever 
you  had  it  to  spind;  and  indeed  when  you  hadn't  you  spint 
it  all  the  same,  for  the  devil  a much  you  cared  how  you  got 
it;  but  death  has  made  you  pay  the  reckoning  at  last — that 
thing  that  filly-officers  call  the  debt  o'  nature  must  be 
paid,  whatever  else  you  may  owe. '' 

“ Why,  it's  as  good  as  a sarmon  to  hear  you,"  said  one 
of.  the  bailiffs. 

“ Oh  Larry,  sir,  discourses  illigant,”  said  a peasant. 

~ “ Tut,  tut,  tut,”  said  Larry,  with  affected  modesty: 
“ it's  not  what  I say,  but  I can  tell  you  a xhing  that  Doc- 
thor  Growlin'  put  out  on  him  more  nor  a year  ago,  which 
\ras  mighty  'cute.  Scholars  calls  it  an  4 epithet  of  dissipa- 
tion,' which  means  getting  a man's  tombstone  ready  for 
him  before  he  dies;  and  devil  a more  cutting  thing  was 
ever  cut  on  a tombstone  than  the  doctor's  rhyme;  this  is 
it— 

* Here  lies  O’Grady,  that  cantankerous  creature, 

Who  paid,  as  all  must  pay,  the  debt  of  nature; 

But,  keeping  to  his  general  maxim  still, 

Paid  it — like  other  debts — against  his  will.  * ” * 

u What  do  you  think  o'  that,  Goggins?”  inquired  one 
bailiff  of  the  other;  “ you're  a judge  o'  po'thry. 

't  “ It's  sevare ,”  answered  Goggins,  authoritatively,  cc  but 
coorse.  I wish  you'd  brile  the  rashers;  I begin  to  feel  the 
calls  o'  nature,  as  the  poet  says.” 

I * These  bitter  lines  on  a <( * bad  pay  ” were  written  by  a Dublin 
medical  wit  of  high  repute,  of  whom  Dr.  Growling  is  a prototype. 


Sand?  a*tdy. 


37? 


This  Mister  Goggins  was  a character  in  his  way.  H© 
had  the  greatest  longing  to  be  thought  a poet,  put  execra- 
ble couplets  together  sometimes,  and  always  talked  as  fino 
as  he  could;  and  his  mixture  of  sentimentality,  with  a 
large  stock  of  blackguardism,  produced  a strange  jumble. 

“ The  people  here  thought  it  nate,  sir/*  said  Larry. 

“ Oh,  very  well  for  the  country!**  said  Goggins;  “ but 
*twouldn*t  do  for  town.** 

“ Misther  Goggings  knows  best,**  said  the  bailiff  who 
first  spoke,  “ for  he*s  a pote  himself,  and  writes  in  the 
hewspapers.  ** 

“ Oh,  indeed!**  said  Larry. 

“Yea,**  said  Goggins,  46  sometimes  I throw  off  little 
things  for  the  newspapers.  There*s  a friend  of  mine  you 
see,  a gentleman  connected  with  the  press,  who  is  often  in 
defficulties,  and  I give  him  a hint  to  keep  out  o*  the  way 
when  he*s  in  trouble,  and  he  swears  Fve  a genus  for  the 
tnuses,  and  encourages  me — ** 

“ Humph!**  says  Larry. 

“ And  puts  my  things  in  the  paper,  when  he  gets  the 
editor*s  back  turned,  for  the  editor  is  a consaited  chap  that 
likes  no  one*s  po*thry  but  his  own;  but  never  mind — if  I 
ever  get  a writ  against  that  chap,  won’t  I sarve  it!** 

“ And  I dar  say  some  day  you  will  have  it  agen  him, 
sir/*  said  Larry. 

“ Sure  of  it,  a*most,**  said  Goggins;  “them  litherary 
men  is  always  in  defficulties.** 

“ I wondher  you*d  be  like  them,  then,  and  write  at  all/* 
said  Larry. 

“ Oh,  as  for  me,  it*s  only  by  way  of  amusement;  at- 
tached as  I am  to  the  legal  profession,  my  time  wouldn*t 
permit;  but  I have  been  infected  by  the  company  I kept. 
The  living  images  that  creeps  over  a man  sometimes  is 
irresistible,  and  you  have  no  pace  till  you  get  them  out  o* 
your  head.  ** 

“ Oh,  indeed,  they  are  very  throublesome/*  says  Larry, 
“ and  are  the  litherary  gintlemen,  sir,  as  you  call  them, 
mostly  that  way?** 

“To  be  sure;  it  is  that  which  makes  a litherary  man; 
his  head  is  full — teems  with  creation,  sir.** 

“ Dear,  dear!**  said  Larry. 

“ And  when  once  the  itch  of  litherature  comes  over  a 
man,  nothing  can  cure  it  but  the  scratching  of  a pen.** 


m 


HANi)Y  Altt)t* 


“ But  if  you  have  not  a pen,  I suppose  you  must  scratch 
any  other  way  you  can.” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Goggins,  “ I have  seen  a litherary 
gentleman  in  a sponging-house  do  crack  things  on  the  wall 
with  a bit  of  burned  stick,  rather  than  be  idle — they  must 
execute.” 

“ Ha!”  says  Larry. 


“ Sometimes,  in  all  their  poverty  and  difficulty,  I envy 
the  ‘ fatal  fatality, * as  the  poet  says,  of  such  men  in  catch- 
ing ideas.  ” 

“ That*s  the  genteel  name  for  it/9  says  Larry. 

“Oh!”  exclaimed  Goggins,  enthusiastically,  “I  know 
the  satisfaction  of  catching  a man,  but  ifc*s  nothing  at  all 
compared  to  catching  an  idea.  For  the  man,  you  see,  can 
give  bail  and  get  off,  but  the  idea  is  your  own  forever. 
And  then  a rhyme — when  it  has  puzzled  you  all  day,  the 
pleasure  you  have  in  nabbing  it  at  last!” 

“ Oh,  it*s  potlTry  you* re  spakin*  about/*  said  Larry. 

“ To  be  sure/*  said  Goggins;  “ do  you  think  Fd  throw 
away  my  time  on  prose?  You* re  burning  that  bacon, 
Tim/*  said  he  to  his  sub. 

“ Poethry  agen  the  world!**  continued  he  to  Larry, 
“ the  Castilian  sthraime  for  me!  Hand  us  that  whisky  ** 
— he  put  the  bottle  to  his  mouth  and  took  a swig — “ that*s 
good — you  do  a bit  of  private  here,  I suspect,**  said  he, 
with  a wink,  pointing  to  the  bottle. 

Larry  returned  a significant  grin,  but  said  nothing. 

“ Oh,  don*t  be  afraid  o*  me — I wouldn*t  *peach— ** 

“ Sure  it*s  agen  the  law,  and  you* re  a gintleman  o*  the 
law/*  said  Larry. 

“ That*s  no  rule/*  said  Goggins:  “ the  Lord  Chief  Jus- 
tice always  goes  to  bed,  they  say,  with  six  tumblers  o*  pot- 
teen  under  his  belt;  and  I dhrink  it  myself.** 

“ Arrah,  how  do  you  get  it?**  said  Larry. 

“ From  a gentleman,  a friend  o*  mine,  in  the  custom- 
house. ** 

“ A-dad,  that*s  quare,”  said  Larry,  laughing. 

“ Oh,  we  see  queer  things,  I teli  you/*  said  Goggins, 
“ we  gentlemen  of  the  law.** 

“ To  be  sure  you  must/*  returned  Larry;  “ and  mighty 
improvin*  it  must  be.  Did  you  ever  catch  a thief,  sir?** 

“ My  good  man,  you  mistake  my  profession,**  said  Gog- 


EtAtfD?  A HD  2. 


37& 


gins,  proudly;  cc  we  never  have  anything  to  do  in  the 
criminal  line,,  that*s  much  beneath  us.” 

“ 1 ax  your  pardon,  sir/* 

lc  No  offense — no  offense.  ** 

“ But  it  must  be  mighty  improving  I think,  ketching  of 
thieves,  and  finding  out  their  *hricks  and  hiding-places, 
and  the  like?** 

“ Yes,  yes,**  said  Goggins,  “ good  fun;  though  I don*t 
do  it,  I know  all  about  it,  and  could  tell  queer  things  too.** 

“ Arrah,  may  be  you  would,  sir?**  said  Larry. 

“ May  be  I will,  after  we  nibble  some  rashers — will  you 
take  share?** 

“ Musha,  long  life  to  you,**  said  Larry,  always  willing 
to  get  whatever  he  could.  A repast  was  now  made,  more 
resembling  a feast  of  savages  round  their  war-fire  than  any 
civilized  meal;  slices  of  bacon  broiled  in  the  fire,  and  eggs 
roasted  in  the  turf-ashes.  The  viands  were  not  objection- 
able; but  the  cooking!  Oh!  there  was  neither  gridiron  nor 
frying-pan,  fork  nor  spoon;  a couple  of  clasp-knives  served 
the  whole  party.  Nevertheless,  they  satisfied  their  hunger 
and  then  sent  the  bottle  on  its  exhilarating  round.  Soon 
after  that,  many  a story  of  burglary,  robbery,  swindling, 
petty  larceny,  and  every  conceivable  crime,  was  related  for 
the  amusement  of  the  circle;  and  the  plots  and  counterplots 
of  thieves  and  thief-takers  raised  the  wonder  of  the  peas- 
ants. Larry  Hogan  was  especially  delighted ; more  par- 
ticularly when  some  trick  of  either  villainy  or  cunning 
came  out. 

“ Now  women  are  troublesome  cattle  to  deal  with  most- 
ly,** said  Goggins.  “ They  are  remarkably  *cute  first,  and 
then  they  are  spiteful  after;  and  for  circumventin*  either 
way  are  sharp  hands.  You  see  they  do  it  quieter  than 
men;  a man  will  make  a noise  about  it,  but  a woman  does 
it  all  on  the  sly.  There  was  Bill  Morgan — and  a sharp  fel- 
low he  was,  too — and  he  had  set  his  heart  on  some  silver 
spoons  he  used  to  see  down  in  a kitchen  windy,  but  the 
servant-maid,  somehow  or  other,  suspected  there  was  de- 
signs about  the  place,  and  was  on  the  watch.  Well,  one 
night,  when  she  was  all  alone,  she  heard  a noise  outside 
the  windy,  so  she  kept  as  quiet  as  a mouse.  By  and  by 
the  sash  was  attempted  to  be  riz  from  the  outside,  so  she 
laid  hold  of  a kittle  oi  boiling  wather  and  stood  hid  behind 


380 


HAtfhY  AtfDY. 


the  shutter.  The  windy  was  now  riz  a little,  and  a hand 
and  arm  thrust  in  to  throw  up  the  sash  altogether,  when 
the  girl  poured  the  boiling  wather  down  the  sleeve  of  Bill's 
coat.  Bill  roared  with  the  pain,  when  the  girl  said  to  him, 
laughing,  through  the  windy,  ‘ I thought  you  came  for 
something.'  " 

“ That  was  a 'cute  girl,"  said  Larry,  chuckling. 

“ Well,  now,  that's  an  instance  of  a woman's  cleverness 
in  preventing.  I'll  teach  you  one  of  her  determination  to 
discover  and  prosecute  to  conviction;  and  in  this  case,  what 
makes  it  curious  is,  that  Jack  Tate  had  done  the  bowldest 
thing,  and  run  the  greatest  risks,  ‘ the  eminent  deadly,  ’ as 
the  poet  says,  when  he  was  done  up  at  last  by  a feather- 
bed." 

“ A feather-bed!"  repeated  Larry,  wondering  how  a 
feather-bed  could  influence  the  fate  of  a bold  burglar,  while 
Goggins  mistook  his  exclamation  of  surprise  to  signify  the 
paltriness  of  the  prize,  and  therefore  chimed  in  with  him. 

“ Quite  true ; no  wonder  you  wonder — quite  below  a man 
of  his  pluck;  but  the  fact  was,  a sweetheart  of  his  was 
longing  for  a feather-bed,  and  Jack  determined  to  get  it. 
Well,  he  marched  into  a house,  the  door  of  which  he  found 
open,  and  went  upstairs,  and  took  the  best  feather-bed  in 
the  house,  tied  it  up  in  the  best  quilt,  crammed  some  caps 
and  ribbons  he  saw  lying  about  into  the  bundle,  and 
marched  down-stairs  again;  but  you  see,  in  carrying  off 
even  the  small  thing  of  a feather-bed,  Jack  showed  the 
skill  of  a high  practitioner,  for  he  descendhered  the  stairs 
backward!" 

“ Backward!"  said  Larry,  “ what  was  that  for?" 

€€  You'll  see  by  and  by,"  said  Goggins;  “he  descendh- 
ered backward,  when  suddenly  he  heard  a door  opening, 
and  a faymale  voice  exclaim,  ‘ Where  are  you  going  with 
that  bed?' " 

“ I am  going  upstairs  with  it,  ma'am,"  says  Jack,  whose 
backward  position  favored  his  lie,  and  he  began  to  walk  up 
again. 

“ ‘ Come  down  here/  said  the  lady,  4 we  want  no  beds 
here,  man.' 

“ ‘ Mr.  Sullivan,  ma'am,  sent  me  home  with  it  himself/ 
said  Jack,  still  mounting  the  stairs. 

" ‘ Come  down,  I tell  you/  said  the  lady,  in  a great 


HANDY  ANDY. 


381 


rage.  4 There's  no  Mr.  Sullivan  lives  here — go  out  of  this 
with  your  bed,  you  stupid  fellow/ 

44  4 I beg  your  pardon,  ma'am/  says  Jack,  turning 
round,  and  marching  off  with  the  bed  fair  and  aisy.  Well, 
there  was  a regular  shilloo  in  the  house  when  the  thing  was 
found  out,  and  cart-ropes  wouldn't  howld  the  lady  for  the 
rage  she  was  in  at  being  diddled;  so  she  offered  rewards, 
and  the  dickens  knows  all;  and  what  do  you  think  at  last 
discovered  our  poor  Jack?" 

“ The  sweetheart,  may  be,"  said  Larry,  grinning  m 
ecstasy  at  the  thought  of  human  perfidy. 

“ No,"  said  Goggins,  44  honor  even  among  sweethearts, 
though  they  do  the  trick  sometimes,  I confess;  but  no 
woman  of  any  honor  would  betray  a great  man  like  Jack. 
No — 'twas  one  of  the  paltry  ribbons  that  brought  convic- 
tion home  to  him;  the  woman  never  lost  sight  of  hunting 
up  evidence  about  her  feather-bed,  and,  in  the  end,  a rib- 
bon out  of  one  of  her  caps  settled  the  hash  of  Jack  Tate. " 

From  robbings  they  went  on  to  tell  of  murders,  and  at 
last  that  uncomfortable  sensation  which  people  experience 
after  a feast  of  horrors  began  to  pervade  the  party;  and 
whenever  they  looked  round,  there  was  the  coffin  in  the 
background. 

44  Throw  some  turf  on  the  fire,"  said  Goggins,  44  'tis 
burning  low;  and  change  the  subject;  the  tragic  muse  has 
reigned  sufficiently  long — enough  of  the  dagger  and  the 
bowl — sink  the  socks  and  put  on  the  buckskins.  Leather 
away,  Jim — sing  us  a song." 

44  What  is  it  to  be?"  asked  Jim. 

44  Oh — that  last  song  of  the  Solicitor-General's,"  said 
Goggins,  with  an  air  as  if  the  Solicitor-General  were  his 
particular  friend. 

44  About  the  robbery?"  inquired  Jim. 

44  To  be  sure,"  returned  Goggins. 

“ Dear  me,"  said  Larry,  44  and  would  so  grate  a man  as 
the  Solicithor-General  demane  himself  by  writin'  about 
robbers?" 

“ Oh!"  said  Goggins,  44  those  in  the  heavy  profession  of 
the  law  must  have  their  little  private  moments  of  rolliek- 
zation;  and  then  high  men,  you  see,  like  to  do  a bit  of  low 
by  way  of  variety.  4 The  Night  before  Larry  was 
stretched ' was  done  by  a bishop,  they  say;  and  4 Lord  Al- 
tamont's  Bull 9 by  the  Lord  Chief  Justice;  and  the  Solicit' 


382 


HANDY  ANDY. 


or-General  is  as  up  to  fun  as  any  bishop  of  them  all 
Come,  Jim,  tip  us  the  stave  V9 
Jim  cleared  nis  throat  and  obeyed  his  chief. 

“THE  QUAKERS  MEETING. 

I. 

##  A traveler  wended  the  wilds  among, 

With  a parse  of  gold  and  a silver  tongue; 

His  hat  it  was  broad,  and  all  drab  were  his  clothes,  # 

For  he  hated  high  colors — except  on  his  nose. 

And  he  met  with  a lady,  the  story  goes. 

Heigho  I yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

n. 

44  The  damsel  she  cast  him  a merry  blink, 

And  the  traveler  nothing  was  loath,  I think; 

Her  merry  black  eye  beamed  her  bonnet  beneath, 

And  the  quaker  he  grinned,  for  he'd  very  good  teeth. 

And  he  asked,  4 Art  thee  * going  to  ride  on  the  lieathf 
Heigho ! yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

hi. 

94  4 1 hope  you'll  protect  me,  kind  sir/  said  the  maid, 

* As  to  ride  this  heath  over  I'm  sadly  afraid ; 

For  robbers,  they  say,  here  in  numbers  abound. 

And  I wouldn't  for  anything  " I should  be  found. 

For,  between  you  and  me,  1 have  five  hundred  pound.* 
Heigho  I yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

rv. 

99  4 If  that  is  thee  own,  dear,'  the  quaker  he  said, 

1 1 ne'er  saw  a maiden  I sooner  would  wed; 

And  I have  another  five  hundred  just  now. 

In  the  padding  that’s  under  my  saddle-bow. 

And  I’ll  settle  it  all  upon  thee,  I vow!' 

Heigho  I yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

v. 

94  The  maiden  she  smiled,  and  her  rein  she  drew, 

4 Your  offer  I’ll  take,  though  I’ll  not  take  you;’ 

A pistol  she  held  at  thequakcrs  head — 

4 Now  give  me  your  gold,  or  I’ll  give  you  my  lead, 

’Tis  under  the  saddle  I think  you  said.’ 

Heigho  1 yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 


* The  inferior  class  of  quakers  make  thee  serve  not  ©«ly  its  own 
grammatical  use,  but  also  do  the  duty  of  thy  and  thhus. 


HANDY  ANDY, 


383 


VI. 

44  The  damsel  she  ripp’d  up  the  saddle  bow. 

And  the  quaker  was  never  aquaker  till  now; 

And  he  saw  by  the  fair  one  he’d  wish’d  for  a bride 
His  purse  borne  away  with  a swaggering  stride, 

And  the  eye  that  looked  tender  now  only  defied. 

Heigho  1 yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

VII. 

44  * The  spirit  doth  move  me,  friend  Broadbrim,’  quoth  she, 
• To  take  all  this  filthy  temptation  from  thee; 

For  Mammon  deceiveth,  and  beauty  is  fleeting: 

Accept  from  thy  n laai  d'n  a right  loving  greeting. 

For  much  doth  she  profit  by  this  quaker’s  meeting. 

Heigho  1 yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

vm. 

44  4 And  hark  I jolly  quaker,  so  rosy  and  sly, 

Have  righteousness  more  than  a wench  in  thine  eye. 
Don’t  go  again  peeping  girls’  bonnets  beneath, 
Remember  the  one  that  you  met  on  the  heath, 

Her  name’s  Jimmy  Barlow — I tell  to  your  teeth  1* 
Heigho ! yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

IX. 

* • Friend  James,’  quoth  the  quaker,  ‘pray  listen  to  me. 
For  thou  canst  confer  a great  favor,  d’ye  see ; 

The  gold  thou  hast  taken  is  not  mine,  my  friend. 

But  my  master’s — and  on  thee  1 depend 
To  make  it  appear  I my  trust  did  defend. 

Heigho  I yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 


44  ' 8o  fire  a few  shots  through  my  clothes,  here  and  there, 

To  make  it  appear  ’twas  a despTate  affair.’ 

So  Jim  he  popped  first  through  the  skirt  of  his  coat, 

And  then  through  his  collar  quite  close  to  his  throat. 

* Now  once  through  my  broad-brim,’ quoth  Ephraim,  ‘I  vota 

Heigho  I yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

XL 

w 4 1 have  but  a brace,’  said  bold  Jim,  ‘ and  they’re  spent, 

And  I won’t  load  again  for  a make-believe  rent.’ 

* Then,’  said  Ephraim — producing  his  pistols — ‘ just  give 
My  five  hundred  pounds  back — or,  as  sure  as  you  live. 

I’ll  make  of  your  body  a riddle  or  sieve.’ 

Heigho  yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

XII. 

44  Jim  3arlow  was  diddled,  and  though  he  was  game, 

He  saw  Ephraim’s  pistol  so  deadly  in  aim. 


S84 


HAHDY  AHBY. 


That  he  gave  up  the  gold,  and  he  took  to  his  scrapers; 

And  when  the  whole  story  got  into  the  papers, 

They  said  that,  ‘ the  thieves  were  no  match  for  the  quakers.* 
Heigho!  yea  thee  and  nay  thee.” 

“ Well,  it's  a quare  thing  you  should  be  singin'  a song 
here,”  said  Larry  Hogan,  “ about  Jim  Barlow,  and  it's 
not  oyer  half  a mile  out  of  this  very  place  he  was  hanged.  ” 

“ Indeed!”  exclaimed  all  the  men  at  once,  looking  with 
great  interest  at  Larry. 

“ It's  truth  Fm  telling  you.  He  made  averybowld 
robbery  up  by  the  long  hill  there,  on  two  gintlemen,  for  he 
was  mighty  stout.” 

“ Pluck  to  the  back-bone/*  said  Goggins. 

“ Well,  he  tuk  the  purses  aff  both  o'  them;  and  just  as 
he  was  goin'  on  afther  doin'  the  same,  what  should  appear 
on  the  road  before  him  but  two  other  travelers  coming  up 
forninst  him.  With  that  the  men  that  was  robbed  cried 
out,  ‘ Stop  thief!'  and  so  Jim,  seein'  himself  hemmed  in 
betune  the  four  o'  them,  faced  his  horse  to  the  ditch  and 
took  across  the  counthry;  but  the  thravelers  was  well 
mounted  as  well  as  himself,  and  powdhered  afther  him  like 
mad.  Well,  it  was  equal  to  a steeple-chase  a'most;  and 
Jim,  seein'  he  could  not  shake  them  off,  thought  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  to  cut  out  some  troublesome  v/ork  for 
them;  so  he  led  off  where  he  knew  there  was  thedivil's  own 
leap  to  take,  and  he  intended*  to  'pound*  them  there,  and 
be  off  in  the  manetime;  but  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  his 
own  horse,  that  was  as  bowld  as  himself,  and  would  jump 
at  the  moon  if  he  was  faced  to  it,  missed  his  foot  in  takin' 
off,  and  fell  short  o'  the  leap  and  slipped  his  shouldher, 
and  Jim  himself  had  a bad  fall  of  it  too,  and,  av  coorse, 
it  was  all  over  wid  him — and  up  came  the  four  gintlemen. 
Well,  Jim  had  his  pistols  yet,  and  he  pulled  them  out,  and 
swore  he'd  shoot  the  first  man  that  attempted  to  take  him; 
but  the  gintlemen  had  pistols  as  well  as  he,  and  were  so 
hot  on  the  chase  they  determined  to  have  him,  and  closed 
on  him.  Jim  fired  and  killed  one  o'  them;  but  he  got  a 
ball  in  the  shouldher  himself  from  another,  and  he  was 
taken.  Jim  sthruv  to  shoot  himself  with  his  second  pistol, 
but  it  missed  fire.  ‘ The  curse  o'  the  road  is  on  me,'  said 
Jim;  ‘ my  pistol  missed  fire,  and  my  horse  slipped  his 


* Impound. 


HANDY  ANDY.  385 

shouldher,  and  now  Pll  be  scragged/  says  he,  ‘butit'g 
not  for  nothing — I've  killed  one  o'  ye/  says  he.*” 

“ He  was  all  pluck/*  said  Goggins. 

“ Desperate  bowld,"  said  Larry.  “ Well,  he  was  thried 
and  condimned  av  coorse , and  was  hanged,  as  I tell  you, 
half  a mile  out  o'  this  very  place,  where  we  are  sitting  and 
his  appearance  walks,  they  say,  ever  since/ 9 

“ You  don't  say  so!"  said  Goggins. 

“ Faith,  it's  thrue!"  answered  Larry. 

“ You  never  saw  it,"  said  Goggins. 

“ The  Lord  forbid!"  returned  Larry;  “but  it's  thrue, 
for  all  that.  For  you  see  the  big  house  near  this  barn, 
that  is  all  in  ruin,  was  desarted  because  Jim's  ghost  used 
to  walk." 

“ That  was  foolish,"  said  Goggins;  “stir  up  the  fire, 
Jim,  and  hand  me  the  whisky. " 

“ Oh,  if  it  was  only  walkin',  they  might  have  got  over 
that;  but  at  last  one  night,  as  the  story  goes,  when  there 
was  a thremendious  storm  o'  wind  and  rain—" 

“ Whisht!"  said  one  of  the  peasants,  “ what's  that?" 

As  they  listened,  they  heard  the  beating  of  heavy  rain 
against  the  door,  and  the  wind  howled  through  its  chinks. 

“ Well,"  said  Goggins,  “ what  are  you  stopping  for?" 

“ Oh,  I'm  not  stoppin',"  said  Larry;  “I  was  sayin' 
that  it  was  a bad  wild  night,  and  Jimmy  Barlow's  appear- 
ance came  into  the  house*  and  asked  them  for  a glass  o' 
sper'ts,  and  that  he'd  be  obleeged  to  them  if  they'd  help 
him  with  his  horse  that  slipped  his  shouldher;  and,  faith, 
afther  that,  they'd  stay  in  the  place  no  longer;  and  signs 
on  it,  the  house  is  gone  to  rack  and  ruin,  and  it's  only  this 
barn  that  is  kept  up  at  all,  because  it's  convaynient  for 
owld  Skinflint  on  the  farm. " 

“ That's  all  nonsense,"  said  Goggins,  who  wished,  nev- 
ertheless, that  he  had  not  heard  the  “ nonsense."  “ Come, 
sing  another  song,  Jim." 

Jim  said  he  did  not  remember  one. 

“ Then  you  sing,  Ralph." 

Ralph  said  every  one  knew  he  never  did  more  than  join 
a chorus. 

“ Then  join  me  in  a chorus,"  said  Goggins,  “ for  I'll 
sing,  if  Jim's  afraid." 

“ I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Jim. 

“ Then  why  won't  you  sing?" 


886 


HANDY  ANDY. 


€t  Because  I don’t  like." 

“ Ah!"  exclaimed  Goggins. 

“ Well,  may  be  you're  afraid  yourself,"  said  Jim,  “ if 
you  towld  thruth." 

“ Just  to  show  you  how  little  I'm  afeard,"  said  Gog- 
gins, with  a swaggering  air,  “ I'll  sing  another  song  about 
Jimmy  Barlow." 

“ You'd  better  not,"  said  Larry  Hogan.  “ Let  him 
rest  in  pace!" 

“ Fudge!"  said  Goggins.  “ Will  you  join  chorus,  Jim?" 

“ I will,"  said  Jim,  fiercely. 

“ We’ll  all  join,"  said  the  men  (except  Larry),  who  felt 
it  would  be  a sort  of  relief  to  bully  away  the  supernatural 
terror  which  hung  round  their  hearts  after  the  ghost  story 
*y  the  sound  of  their  own  voices. 

“ Then  here  goes!"  said  Goggins,  who  started  another 
long  ballad  about  Jimmy  Barlow,  in  the  opening  of  which 
HI  joined.  It  ran  as  follows: 

**  My  name  it  is  Jimmy  Barlow, 

I was  born  in  the  town  of  Carlow, 

And  here  I lie  in  the  Maryborough  jail, 

All  for  the  robbing  of  the  Wicklow  mail. 

Fol  de  rofde  rol  de  riddle-ido!” 

As  it  would  be  tiresome  to  follow  this  ballad  through  all 
its  length,  breadth  and  thickness,  we  shall  leave  the  singers 
engaged  in  their  chorus,  while  we  call  the  reader's  attention 
to  a more  interesting  person  than  Mister  Goggins  or  Jim- 
my Barlow. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

When  Edward  O'Connor  had  hurried  from  the  burial- 
place,  he  threw  himself  into  his  saddle,  and  urged  his  horse 
to  speed,  anxious  to  fly  the  spot  where  his  feelings  had  been 
so  harrowed;  and  as  he  swept  along  through  the  cold  night 
wind  which  began  to  rise  in  gusty  fits,  and  howled  past 
him,  there  was  in  the  violence  of  his  rapid  motion  some- 
thing congenial  to  the  fierce  career  of  painful  thoughts 
which  chased  each  other  through  his  heated  brain.  He 
continued  to  travel  at  this  rapid  pace,  so  absorbed  in  bitter 
reflection  as  to  be  quite  insensible  to  external  impressions* 


HANDY  ANDY. 


337 


and  he  knew  not  how  far  nor  how  fast  he  was  going,  though 
the  heavy  breathing  of  his  horse  at  any  other  time  would 
have  been  signal  sufficient  to  draw  the  rein;  but  still  he 
pressed  onward,  and  still  the  storm  increased,  and  each 
acclivity  was  topped  but  to  sweep  down  the  succeeding  slope 
at  the  same  desperate  pace.  Hitherto  the  road  over  which 
he  pursued  his  fleet  career  lay  through  an  open  country, 
and  though  the  shades  of  a stormy  night  hung  above  it  the 
horse  could  make  his  way  in  safety  through  the  gloom; 
but  now  they  approached  an  old  road  which  skirted  an 
ancient  domain,  whose  venerable  trees  threw  their  arms 
across  the  old  causeway,  and  added  their  shadows  to  the 
darkness  of  the  night. 

Many  and  many  a time  had  Edward  ridden  in  the  soft 
summer  under  the  green  shade  of  these  very  trees,  in  com- 
pany with  Fanny  Dawson,  his  guiltless  heart  full  of  hope 
and  love;  perhaps  it  was  this  very  thought  crossing  his 
mind  at  the  moment  which  made  his  present  circum- 
stances the  more  oppressive.  He  was  guiltless  no  longer — 
he  rode  not  in  happiness  with  the  woman  he  adored  under 
the  soft  shade  of  summer  trees,  but  heard  the  wintery  wind 
howl  through  their  leafless  boughs  as  he  hurried  in  maddened 
speed  beneath  them,  and  heard  in  the  dismal  sound  but  an 
echo  of  the  voice  of  remorse  which  was  ringing  through  his 
heart.  The  darkness  was  intense  from  the  canopy  of  old 
oaks  which  overhung  the  road,  but  still  the  horse  was 
urged  through  the  dark  ravine  at  speed,  though  one  might 
not  see  an  arm's  length  before.  Fearlessly  it  was  per- 
formed, though  ever  and  anon,  as  the  trees  swung  about 
their  heavy  branches  in  the  storm,  smaller  portions  of  the 
boughs  were  snapped  off  and  flung  in  the  faces  of  the  horse 
and  the  rider,  who  still  spurred  and  plashed  his  headlong 
way  through  the  heavy  road  beneath.  Emerging  at  length 
from  the  deep  and  overshadowed  valley,  a steep  hill  raised 
its  crest  in  advance,  but  still  up  the  stony  acclivity  the  feet 
of  the  mettled  steed  rattled  rapidly,  and  flashed  fire  from 
the  flinty  path.  As  they  approached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
the  force  of  the  storm  became  more  apparent;  and  on 
reaching  its  crest,  the  fierce  pelting  of  the  mingled  rain  and 
hail  made  the  horse  impatient  of  the  storm  of  which  his 
rider  was  heedless — almost  unconscious.  The  spent  animal 
with  short  snortings  betokened  his  labor,  and  shook  his 
head  passionately  as  the  fierce  hail-shower  struck  him  in 


388 


HANDY  ANDY. 


the  eyes  and  nostrils.  Still,  however,  was  he  urged  down- 
ward, but  he  was  no  longer  safe.  Quite  blown,  and  pressed 
over  a rough  descent,  the  generous  creature,  that  would 
die  rather  than  refuse,  made  a false  step,  and  came  heavily 
to  the  ground.  Edward  was  stunned  by  the  fall,  though 
not  seriously  hurt;  and,  after  the  lapse  of  a few  seconds, 
recovered  his  feet,  but  found  the  horse  still  prostrate. 
Taking  the  animal  by  the  head,  he  assisted  him  to  rise, 
which  he  was  not  enabled  to  do  till  after  several  efforts; 
and  when  he  regained  his  legs,  it  was  manifest  he  was  seri- 
ously lamed;  and  as  he  limped  along  with  difficulty  beside 
his  master,  who  led  him  gently,  it  became  evident  that  it 
was  beyond  the  animaTs  power  to  reach  his  own  stable 
that  night.  Edward  for  the  first  time  was  now  aware  of 
how  much  he  had  punished  his  horse  ^he  felt  ashamed  of 
using  the  noble  brute  with  such  severity,  and  became  con- 
scious that  he  had  been  acting  under  something  little  short 
of  frenzy.  The  consciousness  at  once  tended  to  restore 
him  somewhat  to  himself,  and  he  began  to  look  around  on 
every  side  in  search  of  some  house  where  he  could  find  rest 
and  shelter  for  his  disabled  horse.  As  he  proceeded  thus, 
the  care  necessarily  bestowed  on  his  dumb  companion  par- 
tially called  off  his  thoughts  from  the  painful  theme  with 
which  they  had  been  exclusively  occupied,  and  the  effect 
was  most  beneficial.  The  first  violent  burst  of  feeling  was 
past,  and  a calmer  train  of  thought  succeeded;  he  for  the 
first  time  remembered  the  boy  had  forgiven  him  and  that 
was  a great  consolation  to  him;  he  recalled,  too,  his  own 
words,  pledging  to  Gustavus  his  friendship,  and  in  this 
pleasing  hope  of  the  future  he  saw  much  to  redeem  what 
he  regretted  of  the  past.  Still,  however,  the  wild  flare  of 
the  pine-torch  over  the  lone  grave  of  his  adversary,  and 
the  horrid  answer  of  the  grave-digger,  that  he  was  bat 
* 6 finishing  his  work,”  would  recur  to  his  memory  and 
awake  an  internal  pang. 

From  this  painful  reminiscence  he  sought  to  escape,  by 
looking  forward  to  all  he  would  do  for  Gustavus,  and  had 
become  much  calmer,  when  the  glimmer  of  a light  not  far 
ahead  attracted  him,  and  he  soon  was  enabled  to  perceive 
it  proceeded  from  some  buildings  that  lay  on  his  right,  not 
far  from  the  road.  He  turned  up  the  rough  path  which 
formed  the  approach,  and  the  light  escaped  through  the 
chinks  of  a large  door  which  indicated  the  place  to  be  a 


HANDY  ANDY* 


389 


coach-house.  Or  some  such  office,  belonging  to  the  general 
pile,  which  seemed  in  a ruinous  condition. 

As  he  approached,  Edward  heard  rude  sounds  of  merri- 
ment, amongst  which  the  joining  of  many  voices  in  a “ ree- 
raw  ” chorus  indicated  that  a carouse  was  going  forward 
within. 

On  reaching  the  door  he  could  perceive  through  a wide 
chink  a group  of  men  sitting  round  a turf  fire  piled  at  the 
far  end  of  the  building,  which  had  no  fire-place,  and  the 
smoke,  curling  upward  to  the  roof,  wreathed  the  rafters  in 
smoke;  beneath  this  vapory  canopy  the  party  sat  drinking 
and  singing,  and  Edward,  ere  he  knocked  for  admittance, 
listened  to  the  following  strange  refrain: — 

4‘  For  my  name  it  is  Jimmy  Barlow, 

I was  born  in  the  town  of  Carlow, 

And  here  I lie  in  Maryborough  jail, 

All  for  the  robbing  of  the  Wicklow  mail. 

Fol  de  rol  de  riddle-iddle-ido!” 

Then  the  principal  singer  took  up  the  song,  which 
seemed  to  be  one  of  robbery,  blood,  and  murder,  for  it  ran 
thus: — • 

“ Then  he  cocked  his  pistol  gayly, 

And  stood  before  him  bravely. 

Smoke  and  fire  is  my  desire, 

So  blaze  away  my  game-cock  squire. 

For  my  name  it  is  Jimmy  Barlow, 

I was  born,  etc.” 

Edward  O’Connor  knocked  at  the  door  loudly;  the 
words  he  had  just  heard  about  “ pistols,”  “ blazing  away,” 
and,  last  of  all,  “ squire,”  fell  gratingly  on  his  ear  at  that 
moment,  and  seemed  strangely  to  connect  themselves  with 
the  previous  adventures  of  the  night  and  his  own  sad 
thoughts,  and  he  beat  against  the  door  with  violence. 

The  chorus  ceased;  Edward  repeated  his  knocking. 

Still  there  was  no  answer;  but  he  heard  low  and  hurried 
muttering  inside.  Determined,  however,  to  gain  admits 
tance,  Edward  laid  hold  of  an  iron  hasp  outside  the  door, 
which  enabled  him  to  shake  the  gate  with  violence,  that 
there  might  be  no  excuse  on  the  part  of  the  inmates  that 
they  did  not  hear;  but  in  thus  making  the  old  door  rattle 
in  its  frame,  it  suddenly  yielded  to  his  touch  and  creaked 
open  on  its  rusty  hinges;  for  when  Larry  Hogan  had  en-p 
tered,  it  had  been  forgotten  to  be  barred. 


890 


HANDY  ANDY. 


As  Edward  stood  in  tlie  open  door- way,  the  first  object 
which  met  his  eye  was  the  coffin — and  it  is  impossible  to 
say  how  much  at  that  moment  the  sight  shocked  him;  he 
shuddered  involuntarily,  yet  could  not  withdraw  his  eyes 
from  the  revolting  object;  and  the  pallor  with  which  his 
previous  mental  anxiety  had  invested  his  cheek  increased 
as  he  looked  on  this  last  tenement  of  mortality.  “Ami 
to  see  nothing  but  the  evidences  of  death's  doing  this 
night?**  was  the  mental  question  which  shot  through  Ed- 
ward *s  over- wrought  brain,  and  he  grew  livid  at  the 
thought.  He  looked  more  like  one  raised  from  the  grave 
than  a living  being,  and  a wild  glare  in  his  eyes  rendered 
his  appearance  still  more  unearthly.  He  felt  that  shame 
which  men  always  experience  in  allowing  their  feelings  to 
overcome  them;  and  by  a great  effort  he  mastered  his  emo- 
tion and  spoke,  but  the  voice  partook  of  the  strong  nervous 
excitement  under  which  he  labored,  and  was  hollow  and 
broken,  and  seemed  more  like  that  which  one  might  fancy 
to  proceed  from  the  jaws  of  a sepulcher  than  one  of  flesh 
and  blood.  Beaten  by  the  storm,  too,  his  hair  hung  in 
wet  flakes  over  his  face  and  added  to. his  wild  appearance, 
so  that  the  men  all  started  up  at  the  first  glimpse  they 
caught  of  him,  and  huddled  themselves  together  in  the 
furthest  corner  of  the  building,  from  whence  they  eyed 
him  with  evident  alarm. 

Edward  thought  some  whisky  might  check  the  feeling  of 
faintness  which  overcame  him;  and  though  he  deemed  it 
probable  he  had  broken  in  upon  the  nocturnal  revel  of  des- 
perate and  lawless  men,  he  nevertheless  asked  them  to  give 
him  some;  but  instead  of  displaying  that  alacrity  so  uni- 
versal in  Ireland,  of  sharing  the  “ creature  **  with  a new- 
comer, the  men  only  pointed  to  the  bottle  which  stood  be- 
side the  fire,  and  drew  closer  together. 

Ed  ward  *s  desire  for  the  stimulant  was  so  great,  that  he 
scarcely  noticed  the  singular  want  of  courtesy  on  the  part 
of  the  men;  and  seizing  the  bottle  (for  there  was  no  glass), 
he  put  it  to  his  lips,  and  quaffed  a hearty  dram  of  the  spirit 
before  he  spoke. 

“ I must  ask  for  shelter  and  assistance  here,**  said  Ed- 
ward. “ My  horse,  I fear,  has  slipped  his  shoulder — ** 

, Before  he  could  utter  another  word,  a simultaneous  roar 
of  terror  burst  from  the  group;  they  fancied  the  ghost  of 
Jimmy  Barlow  was  before  them,  and  made  a simultaneous 


SAXDY  Atft>Y. 


391 


rush  from  the  barn;  and  when  they  saw  the  horse  at  the 
door,  another  yell  escaped  them,  as  they  fled  with  increased 
speed  and  terror.  Edward  stood  in  amazement  as  the  men 
rushed  from  his  presence;  he  followed  to  the  gate  to  recall 
them;  they  were  gone;  he  could  only  hear  their  yells  in  the 
distance.  The  circumstance  seemed  quite  unaccountable; 
and  as  he  stood  lost  in  vain  surmises  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
strange  occurrence,  a low  neigh  of  recognition  from  the 
horse  reminded  him  of  the  animal's  wants,  and  he  led  him 
into  the  barn,  where,  from  the  plenty  of  straw  which  lay 
around,  he  shook  down  a litter  where  the  maimed  animal 
might  rest. 

He  then  paced  up  and  down  the  barn,  lost  in  wonder  at 
the  conduct  of  those  whom  he  found  there,  and  whom  his 
presence  had  so  suddenly  expelled;  and  even  as  he  walked 
toward  the  fire,  the  coffin  caught  his  eye.  As  a fitful  blaze 
occasionally  arose,  it  flashed  upon  the  plate,  which  brightly 
reflected  the  flame,  and  Edward  was  irresistibly  drawn,  de- 
spite his  original  impression  of  horror  at  the  object,  to  ap- 
proach and  read  the  inscription.  The  shield  bore  the  name 
of  “ O'Grady/'  and  Edward  recoiled  from  the  coffin  with 
a shudder,  and  inwardly  asked,  was  he  in  his  waking 
senses?  He  had  but  an  hour  ago  seen  his  adversary  laid 
in  his  grave,  yet  here  was  his  coffin  again  before  him,  as  if 
to  harrow  up  his  soul  anew.  Was  it  real,  or  a mockery? 
Was  he  the  sport  of  a dream,  or  was  there  some  dreadful 
curse  fallen  upon  him  that  he  should  be  forever  haunted  by 
the  victim  of  liis  arm,  and  the  call  of  vengeance  for  blood 
be  ever  upon  his  track?  he  breathed  short  and  hard,  and 
the  smoky  atmosphere  in  which  he  was  enveloped  rendered 
respiration  still  more  difficult.  As  through  this  oppressive 
vapor,  which  seemed  only  fit  for  the  nether  world,  he  saw 
the  coffin-plate  flash  back  the  flame,  his  imagination  ac- 
cumulated horror  on  horror;  and  when  the  blaze  sunk,  and 
but  the  bright  red  of  the  fire  was  reflected,  it  seemed  to 
him  to  burn,  as  it  were,  with  a spot  of  blood,  and  he  could 
support  the  scene  no  longer,  but  rushed  from  the  barn  in  a 
state  of  mind  bordering  on  frenzy. 

It  was  about  an  hour  afterward,  near  midnight,  that  the 
old  barn  was  in  flames;  most  likely  some  of  the  straw  near 
the  fire,  in  the  confusion  of  the  breaking-up  of  the  party, 
had  been  scattered  within  range  of  ignition,  and  caused  the 
accident.  The  flames  were  seen  for  miles  round  the  coun- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


893 

try,  and  the  shattered  walls  of  the  mined  mansion-house 
toere  illuminated  brightly  by  the  glare  of  the  consuming 
barn,  which  m the  morning  added  its  own  blackened  and 
reeking  ruin  to  the  desolation,  and  crowds  of  persons  con-, 
gregated  to  the  spot  for  many  days  after.  The  charred 
planks  of  the  coffin  were  dragged  from  amongst  the  ruin; 
and  as  the  roof  in  falling  in  had  dragged  a large  portion  of 
the  wall  along  with  it,  the  stones  which  had  filled  the  coffin 
could  not  be  distinguished  from  those  of  the  fallen  build- 
ing; therefore  much  wonder  arose  that  no  vestige  of  the 
bones  of  the  corpse  it  was  supposed  to  contain  should  be 
discovered.  Wonder  increased  to  horror  as  the  strange  fact 
was  promulgated,  and  in  the  ready  credulity  of  a supersth 
tious  people,  the  terrible  belief  became  general,  that  his 
sable  majesty  had  made  off  with  (BGrady  and  the  party 
watching  him;  for  as  the  Dublin  bailiffs  never  stopped  till 
they  got  back  to  town,  and  were  never  seen  again  in  the 
country,  it  was  most  natural  to  suppose  that  the  devil  had 
made  a haul  of  them  at  the  same  time.  In  a few  days 
rumor  added  the  spectral  appearance  of  Jim  Barlow  to  the 
tale,  which  only  deepened  its  mysterious  horror;  and 
though,  after  some  time,  the  true  story  was  promulgated 
by  those  who  knew  the  real  state  of  the  case,  yet  the  truth 
never  gained  ground,  and  was  considered  but  a clever  sham, 
attempted  by  the  family  to  prevent  so  dreadful  a story  from 
attaching  to  their  house;  and  tradition  perpetuates  to  this 
hour  the  belief  that  the  devil  flew  away  with  O’  Grady. 

Lone  and  shunned  as  the  hill  was  where  the  ruined  house 
stood,  it  became  more  lone  and  shunned  than  ever,  and.  the 
boldest  heart  in  the  whole  country-side  would  quail  to  be 
in  its  vicinity,  even  in  the  day-time.  To  such  a pitch  the 
panic  rose,  that  an  extensive  farm  which  encircled  it,  and 
belonged  to  the  old  usurer  who  made  the  seizure,  fell  into 
a profitless  state  from  the  impossibility  of  men  being  found 
to  work  upon  it.  It  was  useless  even  as  pasture,  for  no  one 
could  be  found  to  herd  cattle  upon  it;  altogether  it  was  a 
serious  loss  to  the  money-grubber;  and  so  far  the  incident 
of  the  burned  barn,  and  the  tradition  it  gave  rise  to,  acted 
beneficially  in  making  the  inhuman  act  of  warring  with  the 
dead  recoil  upon  the  merciless  old  usurer. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


893 


CHAPTER  XXXVJIl. 

We  left  Andy  in  what  maybe  called  a delicate  situation, 
and  though  Andy's  perceptions  of  the  refined  were  not  very 
acute,  he  himself  began  to  wonder  how  he  should  get  out 
of  the  dilemma  into  which  circumstances  had  thrown  him; 
and  even  to  his  dull  comprehension  various  terminations  to 
his  adventure  suggested  themselves,  till  he  became  quite 
confused  in  the  chaos  which  his  own  thoughts  created.  One 
good  idea,  however,  Andy  contrived  to  lay  hold  of  out  of 
the  bundle  which  perplexed  him : he  felt  that  to  gain  time 
would  be  an  advantage,  and  if  evil  must  come  of  his  ad- 
venture, the  longer  he  could  keep  it  off  the  bettor;  so  he 
kept  up  his  affectation  of  timidity,  and  put  in  his  sobs  and 
lamentations,  like  so  many  commas  and  colons,  as  it  were, 
to  prevent  Bridget  from  arriving  at  her  climax  of  going  to 
bed. 

Bridget  insisted  bed  was  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  for 
a young  woman  in  distress  of  mind. 

Andy  protested  he  never  could  get  a wink  of  sleep  when 
his  mind  was  uneasy.  Bridget  promised  the  most  sisterly 
tenderness. 

Andy  answered  by  a lament  for  his  mother. 

“ Come  to  bed,  I tell  you/'  said  Bridget. 

“ Are  the  sheets  aired?"  sobbed  Andy. 

“ What?"  exclaimed  Bridget,  in  amazement. 

“ If  you  are  not  sure  of  the  sheets  bein'  aired,"  said 
Andy,  “ I'd  be  afeard  of  catchin'  cowld." 

“ Sheets,  indeed!"  said  Bridget;  “ faith,  it's  a dainty 
lady  you  are,  if  you  can't  sleep  without  sheets." 

“ What!"  returned  Andy,  “no  sheets?" 

“ Devil  a sheet." 

“ Oh,  mother,  mother!"  exclaimed  Andy,  “ what  would 
you  say  to  your  innocent  child  being  tuk  away  to  a place 
Where  there  was  no  sheets?" 

“ Well,  I never  heerd  the  like!"  says  Bridget. 

“ Oh,  the  villains!  to  bring  me  where  I wouldn't  have  a 
bit  o'  clane  linen  to  lie  in!" 

“ Sure,  there's  blankets,  I tell  you." 

“Oh,  don't  talk  to  me!"  roared  Andy;  “sure,  you 
know,  sheets  is  only  dacent." 


394 


HAKDY  AHDY. 


“ Bother,  girl!  Isn't  a snug  woolly  blanket  a fine  thing?53 

“ Oh,  don’t  brake  my  heart  that-a-way!”  sobbed  Andy; 
“ sure,  there’s  wool  on  any  dirty  sheep’s  back,  but  linen  is 
dacency!  Oh,  mother,  mother,  if  you  thought  your  poof 
girl  was  without  a sheet  this  night!” 

And  so  Andy  went  on,  spinning  his  bit  of  “ linen  manu- 
facture ” as  long  as  he  could,  and  raising  Bridget’s  wonder 
that,  instead  of  the  lament  which  abducted  ladies  generally 
raise  about  their  “ vartue,”  this  young  woman's  principal 
complaint  arose  on  the  scarcity  of  flax.  Bridget  appealed 
to  common  sense  if  blankets  were  not  good  enough  in  these 
bad  times;  insisting,  moreover,  that,  as  “ love  was  warmer 
than  friendship,  so  wool  was  warmer  than  flax,' ’the  beauty 
of  which  parallel  case  nevertheless  failed  to  reconcile  the 
disconsolate  abducted.  Now  Andy  had  pushed  his  plea  of 
the  want  of  linen  as  far  as  he  thought  it  would  go,  and 
when  Bridget  returned  to  the  charge,  and  reiterated  the 
oft-repeated  “ Come  to  bed,  I tell  you!”  Andy  had  re- 
course to  twiddling  about  his  toes,  and  chattering  his 
teeth,  and  exclaimed  in  a tremulous  voice,  “ Oh,  Iv’e  a 
thrimblin’  all  over  me!” 

“ Loosen  the  sthrings  o'  you,  then,”  said  Bridget,  about 
to  suit  the  action  to  the  word. 

“ Ow!  ow!”  cried  Andy,  “ don’t  touch  me — I'm  tick- 
lish.” 

“ Then  open  the  throat  o'  your  gown  yourself,  dear,” 
said  Bridget. 

“I've  a cowld  on  my  chest,  and  darn’t,”  said  Andy; 
“ but  I think  a dhrop  of  hot  punch  would  do  me  good  if  I 
had  it.” 

“ And  plenty  of  it,”  said  Bridget,  “ if  that’ll  plaze 
you.”  She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  set  about  getting  “ the 
materials  ” for  making  punch. 

Andy  hoped,  by  means  of  this  last  idea,  to  drink  Bridget 
into  a state  of  unconsciousness,  and  then  make  his  escape; 
but  he  had  no  notion,  until  he  tried,  what  a capacity  the 

fentle  Bridget  had  for  carrying  tumblers  of  punch  steadily; 

e proceeded  as  cunningly  as  possible,  and,  on  the  score  of 
“ the  thrimblin'  over  him,”  repeated  the  doses  of  punch, 
which,  nevertheless,  he  protested  he  couldn’t  touch,  unless 
Bridget  kept  him  in  countenance,  glass  for  glass;  and 
Bridget — genial  soul — was  no  way  loath;  for  living  in  a still, 
and  among  smugglers,  as  she  did,  it  was  not  a trifle  o * 


liAKDY  ANDY. 


m 


etingo  could  bring  her  to  a halt.  Andy,  even  with  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  stronger  organization  of  a man,  found  this 
mountain  lass  nearly  a match  for  him,  and  before  the  pota- 
tions operated,  as  he  hoped  upon  her,  his  own  senses  began 
to  feel  the  influence  of  the  liquor,  and  his  caution  became 
considerably  undermined. 

Still,  however,  he  resisted  the  repeated  offers  of  the  couch 
proposed  to  him,  declaring  he  would  sleep  in  his  clothes, 
and  leave  to  Bridget  the  full  possession  of  her  lair. 

The  fire  began  to  burn  low,  and  Andy  thought  he  might 
facilitate  his  escape  by  counterfeiting  sleep;  so  feigning 
slumber  as  well  as  he  could,  he  seemed  to  sink  into  insensi- 
bility, and  Bridget  unrobed  herself  and  retired  behind  a 
rough  screen. 

It  was  by  a great  effort  that  Andy  kept  himself  awake, 
for  his  potations,  added  to  his  nocturnal  excursion,  tended 
toward  somnolency;  but  the  desire  of  escape,  and  fear  of  a 
discovery  and  its  consequences,  prevailed  over  the  ordinary 
tendency  of  nature,  and  he  remained  awake,  watching  every 
sound.  The  silence  at  last  became  painful — so  still  was 
it,  that  he  could  hear  the  small  crumbling  sound  of  the 
dying  embers  as  they  decomposed  and  shifted  their  position 
on  the  hearth,  and  yet  he  could  not  be  satisfied  from  the 
breathing  of  the  woinan  that  she  slept.  After  the  lapse  of 
half  an  hour,  however,  he  ventured  to  make  some  move- 
ment. He  had  well  observed  the  quarter  in  which  the 
outlet  from  the  cave  lay,  and  there  was  still  a faint  glim- 
mer from  the  fire  to  assist  him  in  crawling  toward  the  trap. 
It  was  a relief  when,  after  some  minutes  of  cautious  creep- 
ing, he  felt  the  fresh  air  breathing  from  above,  and  a mo- 
ment or  two  more  brought  him  in  contact  with  the  ladder. 
With  the  stealth  of  a cat  he  began  to  climb  the  rungs — he 
could  hear  the  men  snoring  on  the  outside  of  the  cave:  step 
by  step  as  he  arose  he  felt  his  heart  beat  faster  at  the 
thought  of  escape,  and  became  more  cautious.  At  length 
his  head  emerged  from  the  cave,  and  he  saw  the  men  lying 
about  its  mouth;  they  lay  close  around  it — he  must  step 
over  them  to  escape — the  chance  is  fearful,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  attempt  it — he  ascends  still  higher — his  foot  is  on 
the  last  rung  of  the  ladder — the  next  step  puts  him  on  the 
heather — when  he  feels  a hand  lay  hold  of  him  from  below. 

His  heart  died  within  him  at  the  touch,  and  he  could  not 
resist  an  exclamation. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


396 

“Who's  that?"  exclaimed  one  of  the  men  outside. 
Andy  crouched. 

“ Come  down/' said  the  voice  softly  from  below;  “if 
Jack  sees  you,  it  will  be  worse  for  you. " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Bridget,  and  Andy  felt  it  was  better  to 
be  with  her  than  exposed  to  the  savagery  of  Shan  More  and 
the  myrmidons;  so  he  descended  quietly,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  the  tight  hold  of  Bridget,  who,  with  many  assevera- 
tions that 6 6 out  of  her  arms  she  would  not  let  the  prisoner 
go  till  morning/'  led  him  back  to  the  cave. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

u Great  wit  to  madness  nearly  is  allied, 

And  thin  partitions  do  the  bounds  divide.” 

So  sings  the  poet;  but  whether  the  wit  be  great  or  little, 
the  “ thin  partition  " separating  madness  from  sanity  is 
equally  mysterious.  It  is  true  that  the  excitability  attend- 
ant upon  genius  approximates  so  closely  to  madness,  that 
it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  distinguish  between  them;  but, 
without  the  attendant  “ genius  " to  hold  up  the  train  of 
madness,  and  call  for  our  special  permission  and  respect 
in  any  of  its  fantastic  excursions,  the  most  ordinary  crack- 
brain  sometimes  chooses  to  sport  in  the  regions  of  sanity, 
and,  without  the  license  which  genius  is  supposed  to  dis- 
pense to  her  children,  poach  over  the  preserves  of  common 
sense.  This  is  a well-known  fact,  and  would  not  be  reiter- 
ated here,  but  that  the  circumstances  about  to  be  recorded 
hereafter  might  seem  unworthy  of  belief;  and  as  the  verac- 
ity  of  our  history  we  would  not  have  for  one  moment  ques- 
tioned, we  have  ventured  to  jog  the  memory  of  our  readers 
as  to  the  close  neighborhood  of  madness  and  common 
sense,  before  we  record  a curious  instance  of  intermitting 
madness  in  the  old  dowager  O'Grady. 

Her  son's  death  had,  by  the  violence  of  the  shock, 
dragged  her  from  the  region  of  fiction  in  which  she  habit- 
ually existed;  but  after  the  funeral  she  relapsed  into  all 
her  strange  aberration,  and  her  bird-clock  and  her  chimney- 
pot head-dress  were  once  more  in  requisition. 

The  old  lady  had  her  usual  attendance  from  her  grand- 
daughter, and  the  customary  offerings  of  flowers  was  ren- 
dered, but  they  were  not  so  cared  for  as  before,  and  Char- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


397 


lotte  was  dismissed  sooner  than  usual  from  her  morning’s 
attendance,  and  a new  favorite  received  in  her  place.  And 
“ of  all  the  birds  in  the  air/’  who  should  this  favorite  he 
but  Master  Eatty.  Yes! — Eatty — the  caricaturist  of  his 
grandmamma,  was,  “ f or  the  nonce,”  her  closeted  com- 
panion. Many  a guess  was  given  as  to  “ what  in  the 
world  ” grandmamma  could  want  with  Eatty;  but  the  se- 
cret was  kept  between  them,  for  this  reason,  that  the  old 
lady  kept  the  reward  she  promised  Eatty  for  preserving  it 
in  her  own  hands,  until  the  duty  she  required  on  his  part 
should  be  accomplished,  and  the  shilling  a day  to  which 
Eatty  looked  forward  kept  him  faithful. 

Now  the  duty  Master  Eatty  had  to  perform  was  instruct- 
ing his  grandmamma  how  to  handle  a pistol;  the  bringing 
up  quick  to  the  mark,  and  leveling  by  “ the  sight,”  was 
explained;  but  a difficulty  arose  in  the  old  lady’s  shutting 
her  left  eye,  which  Eatty  declared  to  be  indispensable,  and 
for  some  time  Eatty  was  obliged  to  stand  on  a chair  and 
cover  his  grandmamma’s  eye  with  his  hand  while  she  took 
aim;  this  was  found  inconvenient,  however,  and  the  old 
lady  substituted  a black  silk  shade  to  obfuscate  her  sinister 
luminary  in  her  exercises,  which  now  advanced  to  snap- 
ping the  lock,  and  knocking  sparks  from  the  flint,  which 
made  the  old  lady  wink  with  her  right  eye.  When  this 
second  habit  was  overcome,  the  “dry”  practice,  that  is, 
without  powder,  was  given  up;  and  a “ flash  in  the  pan  ” 
was  ventured  upon,  but  this  made  her  shut  both  eyes  to- 
gether, and  it  was  some  time  before  she  could  prevail  on 
herself  to  hold  her  eye  fixed  on  her  mark,  and  pull  the 
trigger.  This,  however,  at  last  was  accomplished,  and 
when  she  had  conquered  the  fear  of  seeing  the  flash,  she 
adopted  the  plan  of  standing  before  a handsome  old-fash- 
ioned looking-glass  which  reached  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
floor,  and  leveling  the  pistol  at  her  own  reflection  within 
it,  as  if  she  were  Engaged  in  mortal  combat;  and  every 
time  she  snapped  and  burned  priming  she  would  exclaim, 
“ I hit  him  that  time! — I know  I can  kill  him — tremble, 
villain  l” 

As  long  as  this  pistol  practice  had  the  charm  of  novelty 
for  Eatty,  it  was  all  very  well;  but  when,  day  by  day,  the 
strange  mistakes  and  nervousness  of  his  grandmamma 
became  less  piquant  from  repetition,  it  was  not  such  good 
fun;  and  when  the  rantipole  boy,  after  as  much  time  as  he 


398 


HANDY  ANDY. 


wished  to  devote  to  the  old  woman’s  caprice,  endeavored 
to  emancipate  himself  and  was  countermanded,  an  ouk 
burst  of  “ 0h>  bother!”  would  take  place,  till  the  grand- 
mother called  up  the  prospective  shillings  to  his  view,  and 
Ratty  bowed  before  the  altar  of  Mammon.  But  even 
Mammon  failed  to  keep  Ratty  loyal;  for  that  heathen  god, 
Momus,  claimed  a superior  allegiance;  Ratty  worshiped 
the  “ cap  and  bells  " as  the  true  crown,  and  “ the  bauble  " 
as  the  sovereign  scepter.  Besides,  the  secret  became  trouble- 
some to  him,  and  he  determined  to  let  the  whole  house 
know  what  66  gran  " and  he  were  about,  in  a way  of  his 
own. 

The  young  imp,  in  the  next  day's  practice,  worked  up 
the  grandmamma  to  a state  of  great  excitement,  urging 
her  to  take  a cool  and  determined  aim  at  the  looking-glass. 
“ Cover  him  well,  gran,"  said  Ratty. 

“ I will,"  said  the  dowager,  resolutely. 

“ You  ought  to  be  able  to  hit  him  at  six  paces. 99 

“ I stand  at  twelve  paces." 

ic  No — you  are  only  six  from  the  looking-glass." 

“ But  the  reflection,  child,  in  the  mirror,  doubles  the 
distance. " 

“ Bother!"  said  Ratty.  “ Here,  take  the  pistol — mind 
your  eye  and  don't  wink."  . 

“ Ratty,  you  are  singularly  obtuse  to  the  charms  of  sci? 
ence." 

“ What's  science?"  said  Ratty. 

“ Science,  child,  is  knowledge  of  a lofty  and  abstruse 
nature,  developing  itself  in  wonderful  inventions — gun- 
powder, for  instance,  is  made  by  science." 

“ Indeed  it  is  not,"  said  Ratty;  “ I never  saw  his  name 
on  a canister.  Pigou,  Andrew,  and  Wilks,  or  Mister  Hart- 
ford Mills,  are  the  men  for  gunpowder.  You  know  noth- 
ing about  it,  gran." 

Ratty,  you  are  disrespectful,  and  Vill  not  listen  to  in- 
struction. I knew  Kirwan — the  great  Kirwan,  the  chem- 
ist, who  always  wore  his  hat — ' ' 

“ Then  he  knew  chemistry  better  than  manners. " 

“ Ratty,  you  are  very  troublesome.  I desire  you  to  listen, 
sir.  Kirwan,  sir,  told  me  all  about  science,  and  the  Dub- 
lin Society  have  his  picture,  with  a bottle  in  his  hand — " 

“ Then  he  was  fond  of  drink,"  said  Ratty. 

“ Ratty,  don't  be  pert.  To  come  back  to  what  I was 


HANDY  ANDY. 


399 


originally  saying — I repeat,  sir,  I am  at  twelve  paces  from 
my  object,  six  from  the  mirror,  which,  doubled  by  reflec- 
tion, makes  twelve;  such  is  the  law  of  optics.  1 suppose 
you  know  what  optics  are?” 

“ To  be  sure  I do?” 

44  Tell  me,  then.  ” 

44  Our  eyes,”  said  Ratty. 

44  Eyes!”  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  in  amaze. 

44  To  be  sure,”  answered  Katty,  boldly.  44  Didn’t  I 
hear  the  old  blind  man  at  the  fair  asking  charity  4 for  the 
loss  of  his  blessed  optics  ’?” 

44  Oh,  what  lamentable  ignorance,  my  child!”  exclaimed 
the  old  lady.  44  Your  tutor  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self.” 

44  So  he  is,”  said  Katty.  44  He  hasn’t  had  a pair  of  new 
breeches  for  the  last  seven  years,  and  he  hides  himself 
whenever  he  sees  mamma  or  the  girls.” 

44  Oh,  you  ignorant  child!  Indeed,  Katty,  my  love,  you 
must  study.  I will  give  you  the  renowned  Kirwan’s  book. 
Charlotte  tore  some  of  it  for  curl  papers;  but  there’s 
enough  left  to  enlighten  you  with  the  sun’s  rays,  and  re- 
flection and  refraction—” 

44  I know  what  that  is,”  said  Katty. 

44  What?” 

44  Kefraction.  ” 

44  And  what  is  it,  dear?” 

44  Bad  behavior,”  said  Katty. 

44  Oh,  Heavens!”  exclaimed  his  grandmother. 

44  Yes,  it  is,”  said  Katty,  stoutly;  44  the  tutor  says  I’m 
refractory  when  I behave  ill;  and  he  knows  Latin  better 
than  you.  ” 

46  Katty,  Katty!  you  are  hopeless!”  exclaimed  his  grand- 
mamma. 

44  No,  I am  not,”  said  Katty.  I’m  always  hoping.  And 
I hope  Uncle  Kcbert  will  break  his  neck  some  day,  and 
leave  us  his  money.  ” 

The  old  woman  turned  up  her  eyes,  and  exclaimed, 
44  You  wicked  boy!” 

44  Fudge!”  said  Katty;  44  he’s  an  old  shaver,  and  we 
want  it;  and  indeed,  gran,  you  ought  to  give  me  ten  shil- 
lings for  ten  days’  teaching,  now;  and  there’s  a fair  next 
week,  and  I want  to  buy  things.” 

w 44  Katty,  I told  you  when  you  made  me  perfect  in  the 


400 


HAHDY  AHBY. 


use  of  my  weapon  1 would  pay  you.  My  promise  is  sa. 
cred,  and  I will  observe  it  with  that  scrupulous  honor 
which  has  ever  been  the  characteristic  of  the  family;  as 
soon  as  I hit  something,  and  satisfy  myself  of  my  mastery 
over  the  weapon,  the  money  shall  be  yours,  but  not  till 
then. " 

“ Oh,  very  well/*  said  Eatty;  “ go  on  then.  Ready — 
don't  bring  up  your  arm  that  way,  like  the  handle  of  a 
pump,  but  raise  it  nice  from  the  elbow — that's  it.  Ready 
—fire!  Ah!  there  you  blink  your  eye,  and  drop  the  point 
of  your  pistol — try  another.  Ready— fire  ! That's  better. 
Now  steady  the  next  time." 

The  young  villain  then  put  a charge  of  powder  and  ball 
into  the  pistol  he  handed  his  grandmother,  who  took  steady 
aim  at  her  reflection  in  the  mirror,  and  at  the  words, 
“ Ready— fire  /"  bang  went  the  pistol — the  magnificent 
glass  was  smashed — the  unexpected  recoil  of  the  weapon 
made  it  drop  from  the  hand  of  the  dowager,  who  screamed 
with  astonishment  at  the  report  and  the  shock,  and  did 
not  see  for  a moment  the  mischief  she  had  done;  but  when 
the  shattered  mirror  caught  her  eyes,  she  made  a rush  at 
Eatty,  who  was  screeching  with  laughter  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  room  where  he  ran  to  when  he  had  achieved  his 
trick,  and  he  was  so  helpless  from  the  excess  of  his  cachin- 
nation,  that  the  old  lady  cuffed  him  without  his  being  able 
to  defend  himself.  At  last  he  contrived  to  get  out  of  her 
clutches  and  jammed  her  against  the  wall  with  a table  so 
tightly,  that  she  roared  “ Murder!"  The  report  of  the 
pistol  ringing  through  the  house  brought  all  its  inmates  to 
the  spot;  and  there  the  cries  of  murder  from  the  old  lady 
led  them  to  suppose  some  awful  tragedy,  instead  of  a 
comedy,  was  enacting  inside;  the  door  was  locked,  too, 
which  increased  the  alarm,  and  was  forced  in  the  moment 
of  terror  from  the  outside.  When  the  crowd  rushed  in. 
Master  Eatty  rushed  out,  and  left  the  astonished  family  to 
gather  up  the  bits  of  the  story,  as  well  as  they  could,  from 
the  broken  looking-glass  and  the  cracked  dowager. 


CHAPTEE  XL. 

Though  it  is  clear  the  serious  events  in  the  O'Grady 
family  had  not  altered  Master  Eatty's  propensities  in  the 
least,*  the  case  was  far  different  with  Gustavus.  In  that 


HANDY  ANDY. 


401 


one  night  of  suffering  which  Tie  had  passed,  the  gulf  was 
leaped  that  divides  the  boy  from  the  man;  and  the  extra 
frivolity  and  carelessness  which  clung  from  boyhood  up  to 
the  age  of  fifteen,  was  at  once,  by  the  sudden  disrupture 
produced  by  events,  thrown  off,  and  as  singular  a ripen- 
ing into  manhood  commenced. 

Gustavus  was  of  a generous  nature;  and  even  his  faults 
belonged  less  to  his  organization  than  to  the  devil-may-care 
sort  of  education  he  received,  if  education  it  might  be 
called.  Upon  his  generosity  the  conduct  of  Edward 
(EConnor  beside  the  grave  of  the  boy^s  father  had  worked 
strongly;  and  though  Gustavus  could  not  give  his  hand 
beside  the  grave  to  the  man  with  whom  his  father  had 
engaged  in  deadly  quarrel,  yet  he  quite  exonerated  Edward 
from  any  blame;  and  when,  after  a night  more  sleepless 
than  Gustavus  had  ever  known,  he  rose  early  on  the  ensu- 
ing morning,  he  determined  to  ride  over  to  Edward  OUon- 
nor's  house  to  breakfast,  and  commence  that  friendship 
which  Edward  had  so  solemnly  promised  to  him,  and  with 
which  the  boy  was  pleased;  for  Gustavus  was  quite  aware 
in  what  estimation  Edwaid  was  held;  and  though  the  rela- 
tive circumstances  in  which  he  and  the  late  Squire  stood 
prevented  the  boy  from  “ caring  a fig  " for  him,  as  he  often 
said  himself,  yet  he  was  not  beyond  the  influence  of  that 
thing  called  “ reputation,”  which  so  powerfully  attaches  to 
and  elevates  the  man  who  wins  it;  and  the  price  at  which 
Edward  was  held  in  the  country  influenced  opinion  even  in 
Neck-or-nothing  Hall,  albeit  though  “ against  the  grain.  " 
Gustavus  had  sometimes  heard,  from  the  lips  of  the  idle 
and  ignorant,  Edward  sneered  at  for  being  “ cruel  wise," 
and  “ too  much  of  a school-master,"  and  fit  for  nothing  but 
books  or  a boudoir,  and  called  a “ piano  man,"  with  all 
the  rest  of  the  hackneyed  “dirt"  which  jealous  inferiority 
loves  to  fling  at  the  heights  it  can  not  occupy;  for  though 
— as  it  has  been  said — Edward,  from  his  manly  and  sensible 
bearing,  had  escaped  such  sneers  better  than  most  men, 
still  some  few  there  were  to  whom  his  merit  wras  offensive. 
Gustavus,  however,  though  he  sometimes  heard  such 
things,  saw  with  his  own  eyes  that  Edward  could  back  a 
horse  with  any  man  in  the  country — was  always  foremost 
in  the  chase — could  bring  down  as  many  brace  of  birds  as 
most  men  in  a day — had  saved  one  or  two  persons  from 
browning;  and  if  he  did  all  these  things  as  well  as  other 


402 


HAKDY  AKDY. 


men,  Gustavus  (though  hitherto  too  idle  to  learn  much 
himself)  did  not  see  why  a man  should  be  sneered  at  for 
being  an  accomplished  scholar  as  well.  Therefore  he  had 
good  foundation  for  being  pleased  at  the  proffered  friend- 
ship of  such  a man,  and  remembering  the  poignancy  of 
Edward's  anguish  on  the  foregoing  eve,  Gustayus  gener- 
ously resolved  to  see  him  at  once  and  offer  him  the  hand 
which  a nice  sense  of  feeling  made  him  withhold  the  night 
before.  Mounting  his  pony,  an  hour's  smart  riding  brought 
him  to  Mount  Eskar,  for  such  was  the  name  of  Mr.  O'Con- 
nor's residence. 

It  was  breakfast-time  when  Gustavus  arrived,  but  Ed- 
ward had  not  yet  left  his  room,  and  the  servant  went  to 
call  him.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  Edward  had  passed 
a wretched  night;  reaching  home,  as  he  did,  weary  in  mind 
and  body,  and  with  feelings  and  imagination  both  over- 
wrought, it  was  long  before  he  could  sleep;  and  even  then 
his  slumber  was  disturbed  by  harassing  visions  and  fright- 
ful images.  Spectral  shapes  and  things  unimaginable  to  the 
waking  senses  danced  and  crawled  and  hissed  about  him. 
The  torch  flared  above  the  grave,  and  that  horrid  coffin, 
with  the  name  of  the  dead  O'Grady  upon  it,  “ murdered 
sleep."  It  was  dawn  before  anything  like  refreshing  slum- 
ber touched  his  feverish  eyelids,  and  he  had  not  enjoyed 
more  than  a couple  of  hours  of  wrhat  might  be  called  sleep, 
when  the  servant  called  him;  and  then  after  the  brief  ob- 
livion he  had  obtained,  one  may  fancy  how  he  started  when 
the  first  words  he  heard  on  waking  were,  “ Mister  O'Grady 
is  below,  sir. " 

Edward  started  up  from  his  bed  and  stared  wildly  on  the 
man,  as  he  exclaimed,  with  a look  of  alarm,  “ O'Grady! 
For  God's  sake,  you  don't  say  O'Grady?" 

“'Tis  Master  Gustavus,  sir,"  said  the  man,  wondering 
at  the  wildness  of  Edward's  manner. 

“ Oh,  the  boy!— ay,  ay,  the  boy!"  repeated  Edward, 
drawing  his  hands  across  his  eyes  and  recovering  his  self- 
possession.  “ Say  I will  be  down  presently." 

The  man  retired,  and  Edward  lay  down  again  for  some 
minutes  to  calm  the  heavy  beating  of  his  heart  which  the 
sudden  mention  of  that  name  had  produced;  that  name  so 
linked  with  the  mental  agony  of  the  past  night,  that  name 
which  had  conjured  up  a waking  horror  of  such  might  as 
to  shake  the  sway  of  reason  for  a time,  and  which  after- 


HANDY  AND  if. 


403 


ward  pursued  its  reign  of  terror  through  his  sleep.  After 
such  a night,  fancy  poor  Edward  doomed  to  hear  the  name 
of  O'Grady  again  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  we 
can  not  wonder  that  he  wTas  startled. 

A few  minutes,  however,  served  to  restore  his  self-pos- 
session, and  he  arose,  made  his  toilet  in  haste,  and  descend- 
ed to  the  breakfast-parlor,  where  he  wTas  met  by  Gustavus 
with  an  open  hand,  which  Edward  clasped  with  fervor  and 
held  for  some  time  as  he  looked  on  the  handsome  face  of 
the  boy,  and  saw  in  its  frank  expression  all  that  his  heart 
could  desire.  They  spoke  not  a word,  but  they  understood 
one  another;  and  that  moment  commenced  an  attachment 
which  increased  with  increasing  intimacy,  and  became  one 
of  those  steadfast  friendships  which  are  seldom  met  with. 

After  breakfast  Edward  brought  Gustavus  to  his  “ den," 
as  he  called  a room  which  was  appropriated  to  his  own 
particular  use,  occupied  with  books  and  a small  collection 
of  national  relics.  Some  long  ranges  of  that  peculiar  calf 
binding,  with  its  red  label,  declared  at  once  the  contents  to 
be  law;  and  by  the  dry  formal  cut  of  the  exterior  gave  little 
invitation  to  reading.  The  very  outside  of  a law  library  is 
repulsive;  the  continuity  of  that  eternal  buff  leather  gives 
one  a surfeit  by  anticipation,  and  makes  one  mentally  ex- 
claim in  despair,  “ Heavens!  how  can  any  one  hope  to  get 
all  that  into  his  head?"  The  only  plain,  honest  thing 
about  law  is  the  outside  of  the  books  where  it  is  laid  down 
— there  all  is  simple;  inside  all  is  complex.  The  interlacing 
lines  of  the  binder's  patterns  find  no  place  on  the  covers; 
but  intricacies  abound  inside,  where  any  line  is  easier  found 
than  a straight  one.  Nor  gold  leaf  nor  tool  is  emplo}Ted 
without,  but  within  how  many  fallacies  are  enveloped  in 
glozing  words;  the  gold  leaf  has  its  representative  in  “ legal 
fiction;"  and  as  for  “ tooling ,"  there's  plenty  of  that! 

Other  books,  also,  bore  external  evidence  of  the  nature 
of  their  contents.  Some  old  parchment  covers  indicated 
the  lore  of  past  ages;  amidst  these  the  brightest  names  of 
Greece  and  Home  were  to  be  found,  as  well  as  those  who 
have  adorned  our  own  literature,  and  implied  a cultivated 
taste  on  the  part  of  the  owner.  But  one  portion  of  the 
library  was  particularly  well  stored.  The  works  bearing  on 
Irish  history  were  numerous,  and  this  might  well  account 
for  the  ardor  of  Edward's  feelings  in  the  cause  of  his 
country;  for  it  is  as  impossible  that  a river  should  run 


404 


HANDY  ANDY. 


backward  to  its  source,  as  that  any  Irishman  of  a generous 
nature  can  become  acquainted  with  the  real  history  of  his 
country,  and  not  feel  that  she  has  been  an  ill-used  and 
neglected  land,  and  not  struggle  in  the  cause  of  her  being 
righted.  Much  has  been  done  in  the  cause  since^  the  days 
of  which  this  story  treats,  and  Edward  was  amongst  those 
who  helped  to  achieve  it;  but  much  has  still  to  be  done, 
and  there  is  a glorious  work  in  store  for  present  and  future 
Edward  (PConnors. 

Along  with  the  books  which  spoke  the  cause  of  Ireland, 
the  mute  evidences,  also,  of  her  former  glory  and  civiliza- 
tion were  scattered  through  the  room.  Various  ornaments 
of  elegant  form,  and  wrought  in  the  purest  gold,  were 
tastefully  arranged  over  the  mantel-piece;  some,  from  their 
form,  indicating  their  use,  and  others  only  affording  matter 
of  ingenious  speculation  to  the  antiquary,  but  all  bearing 
evidence  of  early  civilization.  The  frontlet  of  gold  indi- 
cated noble  estate,  and  the  long  and  tapering  bodkin  of 
the  same  metal,  with  its  richly  enchased  knob  or  pendant 
crescent,  implied  the  robe  it  once  fastened  could  have  been 
of  no  mean  texture,  and  the  wearer  of  no  mean  rank. 
Weapons  were  there,  too,  of  elegant  form  and  exquisite 
workmanship,  wrought  in  that  ancient  bronze,  of  such 
wondrous  temper  that  it  carries  effective  edge  and  point. 
The  sword  was  of  exact  Phoenician  mold;  the  double-eyed 
spear-head  formed  at  once  for  strength  and  lightness, 
might  have  served  as  the  model  for  a sculptor  in  arming 
the  head  of  Minerva.  Could  these  be  the  work  of  an  un- 
cultivated people?  Impossible!  The  harp,  too,  was  there, 
that  unfailing  mark  of  polish  and  social  elegance.  The 
bard  and  barbarism  could  never  be  coeval.  But  a relic 
was  there,  exciting  still  deeper  interest — an  ancient  crosier, 
of  curious  workmanship,  wrought  in  the  precious  metals 
and  partly  studded  with  jewels;  but  few  of  the  latter  re- 
mained, though  the  empty  collets  showed  it  had  once  been 
costly  in  such  ornaments.  Could  this  be  seen  without  re- 
membering that  the  light  of  Christianity  first  dawned  over 
the  western  isles  in  Ireland ? that  there  the  Gospel  was 
first  preached,  there  the  work  of  salvation  begun? 

There  be  cold  hearts  to  which  these  touching  recollec- 
tions do  not  pertain,  and  they  heed  them  not;  and  some 
there  are,  who,  with  a callousness  which  shocks  sensibility, 
have  the  ignorant  effrontery  to  ask,  “Of  what  use  are 


HANDY  ANDY. 


405 


Such  recollections?”  With  such  frigid  utilitarians  it  would 
be  vain  to  argue;  but  this  question,  at  least,  may  be  put  in 
return: — Why  should  the  ancient  glories  of  Greece  and 
Rome  form  a large  portion  of  the  academic  studies  of  our 
youth? — why  should  the  evidences  of  their  arts  and  their 
arms  be  held  precious  in  museums,  and  similar  evidences 
of  ancient  cultivation  be  despised  because  they  pertain  to 
toother  nation?  Is  it  because  they  are  Irish  they  are  held 
in  contempt?  Alas!  in  many  cases  it  is  so — ay,  and  even 
(shame  to  say)  within  her  own  shores.  But  never  may  that 
day  arrive  when  Ireland  shall  be  without  enough  of  true 
and  fond  hearts  to  cherish  the  memory  of  her  ancient 
glories,  to  give  to  her  future  sons  the  evidences  of  her 
earliest  western  civilization,  proving  that  their  forefathers 
were  not  (as  those  say  who  wronged  and  therefore  would 
malign  them)  a rabble  of  rude  barbarians,  but  that  brave 
kings,  and  proud  princes,  and  wise  lawgivers,  and  just 
judges,  and  gallant  chiefs,  and  chaste  and  lovely  women 
were  among  them,  and  that  inspired  bards  were  there  to 
etuate  such  memories! 


ustavus  had  never  before  seen  a crosier,  and  asked 
what  it  was.  On  being  informed  of  its  name,  he  then  said, 
“ But  what  is  a crosier?” 

“ A bishop's  pastoral  staff,”  said  Edward. 

“ And  why  have  you  a bishop's  staff,  and  swords,  and 
spears,  hung  up  together?” 

“ That  is  not  inappropriate,”  said  Edward.  “ Unfort- 
unately, the  sword  and  the  crosier  have  been  frequently  but 
too  intimate  companions.  Preaching  the  word  of  peace 
has  been  too  often  the  pretext  for  war.  The  Spaniards, 
for  instance,  in  the  name  of  the  Gospel,  committed  the 
most  fearful  atrocities.” 

“ Oh,  I know,”  said  Gustavus,  “that  was  in  the  time  of 
bloody  Mary  and  the  Armada.” 

Edward  wondered  at  the  boy's  ignorance,  and  saw  in  an 
instant  the  source  of  his  false  application  of  the  allusion  to 
the  Spaniards.  Gustavus  had  been  taught  to  vaguely  couple 
the  name  of  “ bloody  Mary  ” with  everything  bad,  and  that 
of  “ good  Queen  Bess”  with  all  that  was  glorious;  and  the 
word  “ Spanish,”  in  poor  Gusty's  head,  had  been  hitherto 
connected  with  two  ideas,  namely,  “ liquorice  ” and  the 
“ Armada.” 

Edward,  without  wounding  the  sensitive  shame  of  ignor- 


406 


HAND*  AND*. 


ant  youth,  gently  set  him  right,  and  made  him  aware  1% 
had  alluded  to  the  conduct  of  the  Spaniards  in  America 
under  Cortes  and  Pizarro. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Gustavus  was  aware  that 
Pizarro  was  a real  character.  He  had  heard  his  grand- 
mamma speak  of  a play  of  that  name,  and  how  great  Mr. 
Kemble  was  in  Roilo,  and  how  he  saved  a child;  but  as  to 
its  belonging  to  history,  it  was  a new  light — the  utmost 
Gusty  knew  about  America  being  that  it  was  discovered  by 
Columbus. 

“ But  the  crosier,”  said  Edward,  “ is  amongst  the  most 
interesting  of  Irish  antiquities,  and  especially  belongs  to 
an  Irish  collection,  when  you  remember  the  earliest 
preaching  of  Christianity  in  the  western  isles  was  in  Ire- 
land.” 

“1  did  not  know  that,”  said  the  boy. 

“ Then  you  don't  know  why  the  shamrock  is  our  na- 
tional emblem?” 

“ No,”  said  Gustavus,  “ though  I take  care  to  mount 
one  in  my  hat  every  Patrick's  day.” 

“Well,”  said  Edward,  anxious  to  give  Gustavus  credit 
for  any  knowledge  he  possessed,  “ you  know  at  least  it  is 
connected  with  the  memory  of  St.  Patrick,  though  you 
don't  know  why.  I will  tell  you.  When  St.  Patrick  first 
preached  the  Christian  faith  in  Ireland,  before  a powerful 
chief  and  his  people,  when  he  spoke  of  one  God,  and  of  the 
Trinity,  the  chief  asked  how  one  could  be  in  three. 
St.  Patrick,  instead  of  attempting  a theological  definition 
of  the  faith,  thought  a simple  image  would  best  serve  to 
enlighten  a simple  people,  and  stooping  to  the  earth  he 
plucked  from  the  green  sod  a shamrock,  and  holding  up 
the  trefoil  before  them  he  bade  them  there  behold  one  in 
three.  The  chief,  struck  by  the  illustration,  asked  at 
once  to  be  baptized,  and  all  his  sept  followed  his  example.” 

“ 1 never  heard  that  before,”  said  Gusty.  “ 'Tis  very 
beautiful.” 

“ I will  tell  you  something  else  connected  with  it,”  said 
Edward. 

“ After  baptizing  the  chief,  St.  Patrick  made  an  eloquent 
exhortation  to  the  assembled  multitude,  and  in  the  course 
of  his  address,  while  enforcing  his  urgent  appeal  with  ap- 
propriate gesture,  as  the  hand  which  held  his  crosier,  after 
being  raised  toward  heaven,  descend?'!  again  toward  the 


HAKJDY  AKDY. 


40? 


fearth,  the  point  of  his  staff,  armed  with  metal,  was  driven 
through  the  foot  of  the  chief,  who,  fancying  it  was  part  of 
the  ceremony,  and  but  a necessary  testing  of  the  firmness 
of  his  faith,  never  winced.” 

“He  was  a fine  fellow,”  said  Gusty.  “And  is  that  the 
crosier?”  he  added,  alluding  to  the  one  in  Edward’s  col- 
lection, and  manifestly  excited  by  what  he  had  heard. 

“ No,”  said  Edward,  “ but  one  of  early  date,  and  belong- 
ing to  some  of  the  first  preachers  of  the  Gospel  amongst  us.  ” 
“ And  have  you  other  things  here  with  such  beautiful 
stories  belonging  to  them?”  inquired  Gusty,  eager  for  mere 
'of  that  romantic  lore  which  youth  loves  so  passionately. 

“ Not  that  I know  of,”  answered  Edward;  “ but  if  these 
objects  here  had  only  tongues,  if  every  sword,  and  belt,  and 
spear-head,  and  golden  bodkin,  and  other  trinket  could 
speak,  no  doubt  we  should  hear  stirring  stories  of  gallant 
warriors  and  their  ladye-loves.” 

“Ay,  that  would  be  something  to  hear!”  exclaimed 
Gusty. 

“Well,”  said  Edward,  “you  may  have  many  such  stories 
by  reading  the  history  of  your  country,  which,  if  you  have 
not  read,  I can  lend  you  books  enough.” 

“Oh,  thank  you,”  said  Gusty;  “I  should  like  it  so 
much.” 

Edward  approached  the  book-shelf,  and  selected  a voP 
ume  he  thought  the  most  likely  to  interest  so  little  prac- 
ticed a reader;  and  when  he  turned  round  he  saw  Gusty 
poising  in  his  hand  an  antique  Irish  sword  of  bronze. 

“ Do  you  know  what  that  is?”  inquired  Edward. 

“I  can’t  tell  you  the  name  of  it,”  answered  Gusty, 
“but  I suppose  it  was  something  to  stick  a felloiv” 

Edward  smiled  at  the  characteristic  reply,  and  told  him  t 
it  was  an  antique  Irish  sword.  \ 

“A  sword?”  he  exclaimed.  “Isn’t  it  short  for  a sword?” 
“ All  the  swords  of  that  day  were  short.” 

“ When  was  that?”  inquired  the  boy. 

“ Somewhere  about  two  thousand  years  ago.” 

“Two  thousand  years!”  exclaimed  Gusty,  in  surprise. 
u How  is  it  possible  you  can  tell  this  is  two  thousand  years 
old?” 

“ Because  it  is  made  of  the  same  metal  and  of  the  same 
shape  as  the  swords  found  at  Cannae,  where  the  Carthag- 
inians fought  the  Bomans.  ” 

f ' 


408 


HAHDY  ANDY* 


“I  know  the  Roman  history/*  said  Gusty,  eager  to  dis- 
play his  little  bit  of  knowledge;  “I  know  the  Roman 
history.  Romulus  and  Remus  were  educated  by  a wolf.** 

Edward  could  not  resist  a smile,  which  he  soon  sup? 
pressed,  and  continued:  “Such  works  as  you  now  hold  in 
your  hand  are  found  in  quantities  in  Ireland,  and  seldom 
anywhere  else  in  Europe,  except  in  Italy,  particularly  at 
Cannae,  where  some  thousands  of  Carthaginians  fell;  and 
when  we  find  a sword  of  the  same  make  and  metal  in  places 
so  remote,  it  establishes  a strong  connecting  link  between 
the  people  of  Carthage  and  of  Ireland,  and  at  once  shows 
their  date.** 

“How  curious  that  is!**  exclaimed  Gusty;  “ and  how 
odd  I never  heard  it  before!  Are  there  many  such  curious 
things  you  know?** 

“ Many,**  said  Edward. 

“ I wonder  how  people  can  find  out  such  odd  things,** 
said  the  boy. 

“ My  dear  boy,**  said  Edward,  “ after  getting  a certain 
amount  of  knowledge,  other  knowledge  comes  very  fast;  it 
gathers  like  a snow-ball — or  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to 
illustrate  the  fact  by  a milldam.  You  know,  when  the 
water  is  low  in  the  milldam,  the  miller  can  not  drive  his 
\jheel;  but  the  moment  the  water  comes  up  to  a certain 
level  it  has  force  to  work  the  mill.  And  so  it  is  with  knowl- 
edge; when  once  you  get  it  up  to  a certain  level,  you  can 
c work  your  mill  * with  this  great  advantage  over  the  mill- 
dam, that  the  stream  of  knowledge,  once  reaching  the 
working  level,  never  runs  dry.** 

“ Oh,  I wish  I knew  as  much  as  you  do,**  exclaimed 
Gusty. 

“ And  so  you  can  if  you  wish  it,**  said  Edward. 

Gusty  sighed  heavily,  and  admitted  he  had  been  very 
idle.  Edward  told  him  he  had  plenty  of  time  before  him 
to  repair  the  damage. 

A conversation  then  ensued,  perfectly  frank  on  the  part 
of  the  boy,  and  kind  on  Edward*s  side  to  all  his  deficien- 
cies, which  he  found  to  be  lamentable,  as  far  as  learning 
went.  He  had  some  small  smattering  of  Latin;  but  Gus-^ 
tavus  vowed  steady  attention  to  his  tutor  and  his  studies 
for  the  future.  Edward,  knowing  what  a miserable 
scholar  the  tutor  himself  was,  offered  to  put  Gustavus 
through  his  Latin  and  Greek  himself,  Gustavus  accepted 


HANDY  ANDY. 


409 


the  offer  with  gratitude,,  and  rode  over  every  day  to  Mount 
Eskar  for  his  lesson;  and,  under  the  intelligent  expla- 
nation of  Edward,  the  difficulties  which  had  hitherto  dis- 
couraged him  disappeared,  and  it  was  surprising  what  prog- 
ress he  made.  At  the  same  time  he  devoured  Irish  history, 
and  became  rapidly  tinctured  with  that  enthusiastic  love 
of  all  that  belonged  to  his  country  which  he  found  in  his 
teacher;  and  Edward  soon  hailed,  in  the  ardent  neophyte, 
a noble  and  intelligent  spirit  redeemed  from  ignorance 
and  rendered  capable  of  higher  enjoyments  than  those  to 
be  derived  merely  from  field  sports.  Edward,  however, 
did  not  confine  his  instructions  to  book-learning  only; 
there  is  much  to  be  learned  by  living  with  the  educated, 
whose  current  conversation  alone  is  instructive;  and  Ed- 
ward had  Gustavus  with  him  as  constantly  as  he  could; 
and  after  some  time,  when  the  frequency  of  Gusty^s  visits 
to  Mount  Eskar  ceased  to  excite  any  wonder  at  home,  he 
sometimes  spent  several  days  together  with  Edward,  to 
whom  he  became  continually  more  and  more  attached. 
Edward  showed  great  judgment  in  making  his  training 
attractive  to  his  pupil;  he  did  not  attend  merely  to  his 
head;  he  thought  of  other  things  as  well;  joined  him  in 
the  sports  and  exercises  he  knew,  and  taught  him  those  in 
which  he  was  uninstructed.  Fencing,  for  instance,  was 
one  of  these;  Edward  was  a tolerable  master  of  his  foil, 
and  in  a few  months  Gustavus,  under  his  tuition,  could 
parry  a thrust  and  make  no  sad  attempt  at  a hit  himself. 
His  improvement  in  every  way  was  so  remarkable,  that  it 
was  noticed  by  all,  and  its  cause  did  not  long  remain 
secret;  and  when  it  was  known,  Edward  O'ConnoFs  char- 
acter stood  higher  than  ever,  and  the  whole  country  said 
it  was  a lucky  day  for  Gusty  O'  Grady  that  he  found  such 
a friend. 

As  the  limits  of  our  story  would  not  permit  the  inter- 
course between  Edward  and  Gustavus  to  be  treated  in  de- 
tail, this  general  sketch  of  it  has  been  given;  and  in  stating 
its  consequences  so  far,  a peep  into  the  future  has  been 
granted  by  the  author,  with  a benevolence  seldom  belong- 
ing to  his  ill-natured  and  crafty  tribe,  who  endeavor  to 
hoodwink  their  docile  followers,  as  much  as  possible,  and 
keep  them  in  a state  of  ignorance  as  to  coming  events. 
But  now,  having  been  so  indulgent,  we  must  beg  to  lay 
hold  of  the  skirts  of  our  readers  and  pull  them  back  again 


HANDY  ANDY. 


410 

down  the  ladder  into  the  private  still,  where  Bridget  pulled 
back  Andy  very  much  after  the  same  fashion,  and  the  re- 
sults of  which  we  must  treat  of  in  our  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

When  Bridget  dragged  Andy  back  and  insisted  on  his 
going  to  bed — 

No— I will  not  be  too  good-natured  and  tell  my  story  in 
that  way;  besides  it  would  be  a very  difficult  matter  to  tell 
it;  and  why  should  an  author,  merely  to  oblige  people,  get 
himself  involved  in  a labyrinth  of  difficulties,  and  rack  his 
Unfortunate  brain  to  pick  and  choose  words  properly  to  tell 
his  story,  yet  at  the  same  time  to  lead  his  readers  through 
the  mazes  of  this  very  ticklish  adventure,  without  a single 
thorn  scratching  their  delicate  feelings,  or  as  much  as 
making  the  smallest  rent  in  the  white  muslin  robe  of  pro- 
priety? So,  not  to  run  unnecessary  risks,  the  story  must 
go  on  another  way. 

When  Shan  More  and  the  rest  of  the  “ big  blackguards  ” 
began  to  wake,  the  morning  after  the  abduction,  and  gave  a 
turn  or  two  under  their  heather  coverlid,  and  rubbed  their 
eyes  as  the  sun  peeped  through  the  “ curtains  of  the  east” 
* — for  these  were  the  only  bed-curtains  Shan  More  and  the 
rest  of  his  companions  ever  had — they  stretched  themselves 
and  yawned,  and  felt  very  thirsty,  for  they  had  all  been 
blind  drunk  the  night  before,  be  it  remembered;  and  Shan 
More,  to  use  his  own  expressive  and  poetic  imagery,  swore 
that  his  tongue  was  “as  rough  as  a rat^s  back,”  while  his 
companions  went  no  further  than  saying  theirs  were  as 
“ dry  as  a lime-burner’s  wig.” 

We  should  not  be  so  particular  in  those  minute  details 
but  for  that  desire  of  truth  which  has  guided  us  all  through 
this  veracious  history;  and  as  in  this  scene,  in  particular, 
we  feel  ourselves  sure  to  be  held  seriously  responsible  for 
every  word,  we  are  determined  to  be  accurate  to  a nicety, 
and  set  down  every  syllable  with  stenographic  strictness. 

“ Whereas  the  girl?”  cried  Shan,  not  yet  sober. 

“ She*s  asleep  with  your  sisther,”  was  the  answer*, 

“ Down -stairs?”  inquired  Shan.  j, 


HANDY  ANDY. 


411 


#tfYes,”  said  the  other,  who  now  knew  that  Big  Jack 
Was  more  drunk  than  he  at  first  thought  him,  by  his  using 
the  words  stairs;  for  Jack  when  he  was  drunk  was  very 
grand,  and  called  down  the  ladder  “down -stairs.” 

“ Get  me  a drink  o*  wather,”  said  Jack,  “ for  Fm  thun- 
dherin*  thirsty,  and  can*t  deludher  that  girl  with  soft  words 
till  I wet  my  mouth. ” 

His  attendant  vagabond  obeyed  the  order,  and  a large 
pitcher  full  of  water  was  handed  to  the  master,  who  heaved 
it  upward  to  his  head  and  drank  as  audibly  and  nearly  as 
much  as  a horse.  Then  holding  his  hands  to  receive  the 
remaining  contents  of  the  pitcher,  which  his  followers 
poured  into  his  monstrous  palms,  he  soused  his  face,  which 
he  afterward  wiped  in  a wisp  of  grass — the  only  towel  of 
Jack*s  which  was  not  then  at  the  wash. 

Having  thus  made  his  toilet.  Big  Jack  went  down-stairs, 
and  as  soon  as  his  great  bull-head  had  disappeared  beneath 
the  trap,  one  of  the  men  above  said,  “ WeTl  have  a shilloe 
soon,  boys.” 

And  sure  enough  they  did  before  long  hear  an  extraordi- 
nary row.  Jack  first  roared  for  Bridget,  and  no  answer 
was  returned;  the  call  was  repeated  with  as  little  effect,  and 
at  last  a most  tremendous  roar  was  heard  above,  but  not 
from  a female  voice.  Jack  was.  heard  below,  swearing  like 
a trooper,  and,  in  a minute  or  two,  back  he  rushed  “ up- 
stairs ” and  began  cursing  his  myrmidons  most  awfully, 
and  foaming  at  the  mouth  with  rage. 

“ WhaFs  the  matther?”  cried  the  men. 

“Matther!”  roared  Jack;  “oh,  you  Tarnal  villains! 
You*re  a purty  set  to  carry  off  a girl  for  a man — a purty 
job  you*ve  made  of  it!” 

“ Arrah,  didn*t  we  bring  her  to  you?” 

“ Her , indeed — bring  her — much  good  what  you  brought 
is  to  me!” 

“ Tare  an*  ouns!  whaFs  the  matther  at  all?  We  dunna 
tvhat  you  mane!”  shouted  the  men,  returning  rage  foi 
rage. 

“Come  down,  and  youTl  see  whaFs  the  matther,”  said 
Jack,  descending  the  ladder;  and  the  men  hastened  after 

him. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  further  end  of  the  cabin,  where  a 
small  glimmering  of  light  was  permitted  to  enter  from  the 
top,  and  lifting  a tattered  piece  of  canvas,  which  served  as 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


a screen  to  the  bed,  he  exclaimed,  with  a curse,  “ Look 
there,  you  blackguard!” 

The  men  gave  a shout  of  surprise,  for — what  do  you 
think  they  saw? — An  empty  bed! 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

It  may  be  remembered  that,  on  Father  Phil’s  recom- 
mendation, Andy  was  to  be  removed  out  of  the  country  to 
place  him  beyond  the  reach  of  Larry  Hogan’s  machinations, 
and  that  the  proposed  journey  to  London  afforded  a good 
opportunity  of  taking  him  out  of  the  way.  Andy  had 
been  desired  by  Squire  Egan  to  repair  to  Merry  vale;  but  as 
some  days  had  elapsed  and  Andy  had  not  made  his  appear- 
ance, the  alarm  of  the  Squire  that  Andy  might  be  tam- 
pered with  began  to  revive,  and  Dick  Dawson  was  there- 
fore requested  to  call  at  the  Widow  Rooney’s  cabin  as  he 
was  returning  from  the  town,  where  some  business  with 
Murphy,  about  the  petition  against  Scatterbrain’s  return, 
demanded  his  presence. 

Dick,  as  it  happened,  had  no  need  to  call  at  the  widow’s, 
for  on  his  way  to  the  town  whom  should  he  see  approaching 
but  the  renowned  Andy  himself.  On  coming  up  to  him, 
Dick  pulled  up  his  horse,  and  Andy  pulled  off  his  hat. 

“ God  save  your  honor/’  said  Andy. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  come  to  Merry  vale,  as  you  were  bid?” 
said  Dick. 

“ I couldn’t,  sir,  because — ” 

“Hold  your  tongue,  you  thief;  you  know  you  never  can 
do  what  you’re  bid — you  are  always  wrong  one  way  or 
other.” 

“ You’re  hard  on  me,  Misther  Dick.” 

“Did  you  ever  do  anything  right? — I ask  yourself?” 

“ Indeed,  sir,  this  time  it  was  a rale  bit  o’  business  I had 
to  do.” 

“And  well  you  did  it,  no  doubt.  Did  you  marry  any 
one  lately?”  said  Dick,  with  a waggish  grin  and  a wink. 

“Eaix,  then,  may  be  I did,”  said  Andy,  with  a knowing 
nod. 

“And  I hope  Matty  is  well?”  said  Dick. 

“ Ah,  Misther  Dick,  you’re  always  goin’  on  with  your 
jokin’,  so  you  are.  So,  you  heerd  o’  that  job,  did  you? 


HANDY  ANDY.  413 

Faix,  a purty  lady  she  is — oh,  it's  not  her  at  all  I am  mar- 
ried to,  but  another  woman. " 

“ Another  woman!"  exclaimed  Dick,  in  surprise. 

“ Yes,  sir,  another  woman — a kind  craythur." 

“ Another  woman!"  reiterated  Dick,  laughing;  “mar- 
ried to  two  women  in  two  days!  Why  you're  worse  than  a 
Turk!" 

“Ah,  Misther  Dick!" 

“ You  Tarquin!" 

“ Sure,  sir,  what  harm's  in  it?" 

“ You  Heliogabalus!  !" 

“ Sure,  it's  no  fault  o'  mine,  sir. " 

“ Bigamy,  by  this  and  that,  flat  bigamy!  You'll  only 
be  hanged,  as  sure  as  your  name's  Andy." 

“ Sure,  let  me  tell  you  how  it  was,  sir,  and  you'll  see  I 
am  quit  of  all  harm,  good  or  bad.  'Twas  a pack  o'  black- 
guards, you  see,  come  to  take  off  Oonah,  sir." 

“ Oh,  a case  of  abduction!" 

“ Yes,  sir;  so  the  women  dhressed  me  up  as  a girl,  and 
the  blackguards,  instead  of  the  seduction  of  Oonah,  only 
seduced  me." 

“Capital!"  cried  Dick;  “well  done,  Andy!  And  who 
seduced  you?" 

“ Shan  More , faith — no  less." 

“Ho,  ho!  a dangerous  customer  to  play  tricks  on, 
Andy." 

“ Sure  enough,  faith,  and  that's  partly  the  rayson  of 
what  happened;  but,  by  good  luck,  Big  Jack  was  blind 
dhrunk  when  I got  there,  and  I shammed  screechin'  so 
well  that  his  sisther  took  pity  on  me,  and  said  she'd  keep 
me  safe  from  harm  in  her  own  bed  that  night." 

Dick  gave  a “view  hallo"  when  he  heard  this,  and 
shouted  with  laughter,  delighted  at  the  thought  of  Shan 
More,  instead  of  carrying  off  a girl  for  himself,  introducing 
a gallant  to  his  own  sister. 

“ Oh,  now  I see  how  you  are  married,"  said  Dick;  “ that 
was  the  biter  bit  indeed." 

“ Oh,  the  devil  a bit  I'd  ha'  bit  her  only  for  the  cross 
luck  with  me,  for  I wanted  to  schame  off  out  o'  the  place, 
and  escape;  but  she  wouldn't  let  me,  and  cotch  me  and 
brought  me  back." 

“ I should  think  she  would,  indeed,"  said  Dick,  laugh- 
ing.  “ What  next?" 


414 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Why  I drank  a power  o’  punch,  sir,  and  was  off  my 
guard  you  see,  and  couldn’t  keep  the  saycret  so  well  afther 
that,  and  by  dad  she  found  it  out.” 

“ Just  what  I would  expect  of  her,”  said  Dick. 

“Well,  do  you  know,  sir,  though  the  thrick  was  agen 
her  own  brother,  she  laughed  at  it  a power,  and  said  I was 
a great  divil,  but  that  she  couldn’t  blame  me.  So  then 
I’d  sthruv  to  coax  her  to  let  me  make  my  escape,  but  she 
told  me  to  wait  a bit  till  the  men  above  was  faster  asleep; 
but  while  I was  waitin’  for  them  to  go  to  sleep,  faix,  I went 
to  asleep  myself,  I was  so  tired;  and  when  Bridget,  the 
craythur,  ’woke  me  in  the  morning,  she  was  cryin’  like  a 
spout  afther  a thunder-storm,  and  said  her  character  would 
be  ruined  when  the  story  got  abroad  over  the  counthry, 
and  sure  she  darn’t  face  the  world  if  I wouldn’t  make  her 
an  honest  woman.” 

“ The  brazen  baggage!”  said  Dick;  “ and  what  did  you 
say?” 

“ Why  what  could  any  man  say,  sir,  afther  that?  Sure 
her  karacther  would  be  gone  if — ” 

“Gone,”  said  Dick,  “faith  it  might  have  gone  further 
before  it  fared  worse.” 

“Arrah!  what  do  you  mane,  Misther  Dick?” 

“ Pooh,  pooh!  Andy — you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  married 
that  one?” 

“Faix,  I did,”  said  Andy. 

“Well,  Andy,”  said  Dick,  grinning,  “by  the  powers, 
you  have  done  it  this  time!  Good-morning  to  you!”  and 
Dickput  spurs  to  his  horse. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

Andy,  “ knocked  all  of  a heap,”  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  looking  after  Dick  as  he  cantered  down  the  slope. 
It  was  seldom  poor  Andy  was  angry — but  he  felt  a strong 
sense  of  indignation  choking  him  as  Dick’s  parting  words 
still  rung  in  his  ears.  “ What  does  he  mane?”  said  Andy, 
talking  aloud;  “what  does  he  mane?”  he  repeated,  anx- 
ious to  doubt  and  therefore  question  the  obvious  con- 
struction which  Dick’s  words  bore.  “Misther  Dick  is 
fond  of  a joke,  and  maybe  this  is  one  of  his  making;  but 
if  it  is,  ’tis  not  a fair  one,  ’pon  my  soul:  a poor  man  has 


HANDY  ANDY. 


410 


Iris  feelin's  as  well  as  a rich  man.  How  would  yon  like 
your  own  wife  to  be  spoke  of  that  way,  Misther  Dick,  as 
proud  as  you  ride  your  horse  there — humph?” 

Andy,  in  great  indignation,  pursued  his  way  toward  his 
mother's  cabin  to  ask  her  blessing  upon  his  marriage.  On 
his  presenting  himself  there,  both  the  old  woman  and 
Oonah  were  in  great  delight  at  witnessing  his  safe  return; 
Oonah  particularly,  for  she,  feeling  that  it  was  for  her  sake 
Andy  placed  himself  in  danger,  had  been  in  a state  of 
great  anxiety  for  the  result  of  the  adventure,  and  on  seeing 
him,  absolutely  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  embraced 
him  tenderly,  impressing  many  a hearty  kiss  upon  his  lips, 
between  whiles  that  she  vowed  she  would  never  forget  his 
generosity  and  courage,  and  ending  with,  saying  there  was 
nothing  she  wrould  not  do  for  him. 

Now  Andy  was  flesh  and  blood  like  other  people,  and  as 
the  showers  of  kisses  from  Oonah's  ripe  lips  fell  fast  upon 
him  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  embrace  of  so  very 
pretty  a girl — a girl,  moreover,  he  had  always  had  a 
“ sneaking  kindness”  for,  which  Oonah's  distance  of  man- 
ner alone  had  hitherto  made  him  keep  to  himself;  but 
now,  when  he  saw  her  eyes  beam  gratitude,  and  her  cheek 
flush,  after  her  strong  demonstration  of  regard,  and  heard 
her  last  words,  so  very  like  a hint  to  a shy  man,  it  must 
be  owned  a sudden  pang  shot  through  poor  Andy's  heart, 
and  he  sickened  at  the  thought  of  being  married,  which 
placed  the  tempting  prize  before  him  hopelessly  beyond  his 
reach. 

He  looked  so  blank,  and  seemed  so  unable  to  return 
Oonah's  fond  greeting,  that  she  felt  the  pique  which  every 
pretty  woman  experiences  who  fancies  her  favors  disregard- 
ed, and  thought  Andy  the  stupidest  lout  she  ever  came  across. 
Turning  up  her  hair,  which  had  fallen  down  in  the  excess 
of  her  friendship,  she  walked  out  of  the  cottage,  and,  bit- 
ing her  disdainful  lip,  fairly  cried  for  spite. 

In  the  meantime,  Andy  popped  down  on  his  knees  before 
the  widow,  and  said,  “Give  me  your  blessing,  mother!” 

“For  what,  you  omadhawn?”  said  his  mother,  fiercely; 
for  her  woman's  nature  took  part  with  Oonah's  feelings, 
which  she  quite  comprehended,  and  she  was  vexed  with 
what  she  thought  Andy's  disgusting  insensibility.  “For 
what  should  I give  you  my  blessing?” 

“Bekase  I'm  marri'd,  ma'am.” 


41 6 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“What!”  exclaimed  the  mother.  “It's  not  marrrd 
again  you  are?  You’re  jokin’  sure.” 

“Faix,  it’s  no  joke/’ said  Andy,  sadly,  “I’m  marri’d 
sure  enough;  so  give  us  your  blessin’,  anyhow,”  cried  he, 
still  kneeling. 

“ And  who  did  you  dar ’ for  to  marry,  sir,  if  I make  so 
bowld  to  ax,  without  my  lave  or  license?” 

“ There  was  no  time  for  axin’,  mother — ’twas  done  in  a 
hurry,  and  I can’t  help  it,  so  give  us  your  blessing  at  once.” 

“ Tell  me  who  is  she,  before  I give  you  my  blessin’?” 

“ Shan  More’s  sister,  ma’am.” 

“What!”  exclaimed  the  widow,  staggering  back  some 
paces.  “ Shan  More’s  sisther,  did  you  say — Bridget  rhuas* 
is  it?” 

“ Yis,  ma’am.” 

“ Oh,  wirrasthru ! — plillelew ! — millia  murther !”  shouted 
the  mother,  tearing  her  cap  off  her  head.  “ Oh,  blessed 
Vargin,  holy  St.  Dominick,  Pether  an’  Paul  the  ’possel, 
what’ll  I do?  Oh,  patther  an’  ave— you  dirty  bosthoon — 
blessed  angels  and  holy  marthyrs! — kneelin’-  there  in  the 
middle  o’  the  Sure  as  if  nothing  happened ! — look  down  on 
me  this  day,  a poor  vartuous  dissolute  woman!  Oh,  you 
disgrace  to  me  and  all  belonging  to  you;  and  is  it  the  im- 
pidence  to  ask  my  blessin’  you  have,  when  it’s  a whippin’ 
at  the  cart’s  tail  you  ought  to  get,  you  shameless  scape- 
grace?” 

She  then  went  wringing  her  hands,  and  throwing  them 
upward  in  appeals  to  Heaven,  while  Andy  still  kept  kneel- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  cabin,  lost  in  wonder. 

The  widow  ran  to  the  door  and  called  Oonah  in. 

“ Who  do  you  think  that  blackguard  is  marri’d  to?”  said 
the  widow. 

“ Married!”  exclaimed  Oonah,  turning  pale. 

“ Ay,  marri’d,  and  who  to,  do  you  think?  Why  to 
Bridget  rhua.” 

Oonah  screamed  and  clasped  her  hands. 

Andy  got  up  at  last,  and  asked  what  they  were  making 
*,uch  a rout  about;  he  wasn’t  the  first  man  who  married 
without  asking  his  mother’s  leave;  and  wanted  to  know 
what  they  had  to  “ say  agen  it.” 

“Oh,  you  barefaced  scandal  o’  the  world!”  cried  the 


* Red-haired  Bridget. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


417 


widow,  “to  ax  sitch  a question— to  marry  a thrampin' 
sthreel  like  that — a great  red-headed  jack — ” 

“ She  can't  help  her  hair,”  said  Andy. 

“ I wish  I could  cut  it  off,  and  her  head  along  with  it, 
the  sthrap!  Oh,  blessed  Vargin!  to  have  my  daughter-in- 


“ What?”  said  Andy,  getting  rather  alarmed. 

“ That  all  the  country  knows  is — ” 

“ What?”  cried  Andy. 

“ Not  a fair  nor  a market-town  doesn't  know  her  as  well 
as — Oh,  wirra!  wirra!” 

“ Why,  you  don't  mane  to  say  anything  agen  her  char- 
ackther,  do  you?”  said  Andy. 

“ Charackther,  indeed!”  said  his  mother,  with  a sneer. 

“By  this  an'  that,”  said  Andy,  “if  she  was  the  child 
unborn  she  couldn't  make  a greater  hullabaloo  about  her 
charackther  than  she  did  the  mornin'  afther.” 

“ Afther  what?”  said  his  mother. 

“ Afther  I was  tuk  away  up  to  the  hill  beyant,  and  found 
her  there,  and — but  I b’lieve  I didn't  tell  you  how  it  hap- 
pened.” 

“ No,”  said  Oonah,  coming  forward,  deadly  pale,  and 
listening  anxiously,  with  a look  of  deep  pity  in  her  soft 
eyes. 

Andy  then  related  his  adventure  as  the  reader  already 
knows  it;  and  when  it  was  ended,  Oonah  burst  into  tears 
and  in  passionate  exclamations  blamed  herself  for  all  that 
had  happened,  saying  it  was  in  the  endeavor  to  save  her 
that  Andy  had  lost  himself. 

“Oh,  Oonah!  Oonah!”  said  Andy,  with  more  meaning 
in  his  voice  than  the  girl  had  ever  heard  before,  “ it  isn't  the 
loss  of  myself  I mind,  but  I've  lost  you  too.  Oh,  if  you 
had  ever  given  me  a tendher  word  or  look  before  this  day, 
'twould  never  have  happened,  and  that  desaiver  in  the  hills 
never  could  have  deludiiered  vie . And  tell  me,  lanna  ma- 
chree , is  my  suspicions  right  in  what  I hear — tell  me  the 
worst  at  oncet — is  she  non  compos  ?” 

“ Oh,  I never  heard  her  called  by  that  name  before,” 
sobbed  Oonah,  “but  she  has  a great  many  others  just  as 
bad.” 


“ Ow!  ow!  ow!”  exclaimed  Andy.  “ Now  I know  what 
Misther  Dick  laughed  at;  well,  death  before  dishonor — I'll 
go  'list  for  a sojer,  and  never  live  with  her!” 

14 


418 


HANDY  ANDY* 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

It  has  been  necessary  in  an  earlier  chapter  to  notice  the 
strange  freaks  madness  will  sometimes  play.  It  was  then 
the  object  to  show  how  strong  affections  of  the  mind  will 
recall  an  erring  judgment  to  its  true  balance;  but,  the 
action  of  the  counterpoise  growing  weaker  by  time,  the 
disease  returns,  and  reason  again  kicks  the  beam.  Such 
was  the  old  dowagers  case:  the  death  of  her  son  recalled 
her  to  herself;  but  a few  days  produced  relapse,  and  she 
was  as  foolish  as  ever.  Nevertheless,  as  Polonius  remarks 
of  Hamlet, 

“ There  is  method  in  his  madness;” 

so  in  the  dowager's  case  there  was  method — not  of  a sane 
intention,  as  the  old  courtier  implies  of  the  Danish  Prince, 
but  of  insane  birth — begot  of  a chivalrous  feeling  on  an 
enfeebled  mind. 

To  make  this  clearly  understood  it  is  necessary  to  call 
attention  to  one  other  peculiarity  of  madness — that,  while 
it  makes  those  under  its  influence  liable  to  say  and  enact 
all  sorts  of  nonsense  on  some  subjects,  it  never  impairs 
their  powers  of  observation  on  those  which  chance  to  come 
within  the  reach  of  the  undiseased  portion  of  the  mind; 
and  moreover,  they  are  quite  as  capable  of  arriving  at  just 
conclusions  upon  what  they  so  see  and  hear,  as  the  most 
reasonable  person,  and,  perhaps,  in  proportion  as  the  rea- 
soning power  is  limited  within  a smaller  compass,  so  the 
capability  of  observation  becomes  stronger  by  being  con- 
centrated. 

Such  was  the  case  with  the  old  dowager,  who,  while  Fur- 
long was  “ doing  devotion 99  to  Augusta  and  appeared  the 
pink  of  faithful  swains,  saw  very  clearly  that  Furlong  did 
not  like  it  a bit,  and  would  gladly  be  off  his  bargain.  Yea, 
while  the  people  in  their  sober  senses  on  the  same  plane 
with  the  parties  were  taken  in,  the  old  lunatic,  even  from 
the  toppling  height  of  her  own  mad  chimney-pot,  could 
look  down  and  see  that  Furlong  would  not  marry  Augusta 
if  he  could  help  it. 

It  was  even  so.  Furlong  had  acted  under  the  influence 


HAKDY  AiTDYo 


419 


of  terror  when  poor  Augusta,  shoved  into  his  bedroom 
through  the  devilment  of  that  rascally  imp,  Eatty,  and 
found  there,  through  the  evil  destiny  of  Andy,  was  flung  intq 
his  arms  by  her  enraged  father,  and  accepted  as  his  wife. 
The  immediate  hurry  of  the  election  had  delayed  the  mar-> 
riage — the  duel  and  its  consequences  further  interrupted 
“ the  happy  event  ”• — and  O’Grady^s  death  caused  a further 
postponement.  It  was  delicately  hinted  to  Furlong,  that 
when  matters  had  gone  so  far  as  to  the  wedding-dresses  be- 
ing ready,  that  the  sooner  the  contracting  parties  under 
such  circumstances  were  married,  the  better.  But  Furlong, 
with  that  affectation  of  propriety  which  belongs  to  his 
time-serving  tribe,  pleaded  the  “ regard  to  appearances  ” — ■ 
“ so  soon  after  the  ever-to-be-deplored  event  ” — and  other 
such  specious  excuses,  which  were  but  covers  to  his  own 
rascality,  and  used  but  to  postpone  the  “wedding-day.” 
The  truth  was,  the  moment  Furlong  had  no  longer  the 
terrors  of  (FGrady's  pistol  before  his  eyes,  he  had  resolved 
never  to  take  so  bad  a match  as  that  with  Augusta  ap- 
peared to  be — indeed  was,  as  far  as  regarded  money;  though 
Furlong  should  only  have  been  too  glad  to  be  permitted  to 
mix  his  plebeian  blood  with  the  daughter  of  a man  of 
high  family,  whose  crippled  circumstances  and  consequent 
truckling  conduct  had  reduced  him  to  the  wretched  neces- 
sity of  making  such  a cur  as  Furlong  the  inmate  of  his 
house.  But  so  it  was. 

The  family  began  at  last  to  suspect  the  real  state  of  the 
case,  and  all  were  surprised  except  the  old  dowager;  she 
had  expected  what  was  coming,  and  had  prepared  herself 
for  it.  All  her  pistol  practice  was  with  a view  to  call  Fur- 
long to  the  “ last  arbitrament  ” for  this  slight  to  her  house. 
Gusty  was  too  young,  she  considered,  for  the  duty;  there- 
fore she,  in  her  fantastic  way  of  looking  at  the  matter, 
looked  upon  herself  as  the  head  of  the  family,  and,  as  such, 
determined  to  resent  the  affront  put  upon  it. 

But  of  her  real  design  the  family  at  Neck-or-nothing  Hall 
had  not  the  remotest  notion.  Of  course,  an  old  lady  going 
about  with  a pistol,  powder-flask,  and  bullets,  and  prac- 
ticing on  the  trunks  of  the  trees  in  the  park,  would  not 
pass  without  observation,  and  surmises  there  were  on  the 
subject;  then  her  occasional  exclamation  of  “Tremble, 
villain!”  would  escape  her;  and  sometimes  in  the  family 
circle,  after  sitting  for  a while  in  a state  of  abstraction,  she 


420 


HANDY  ANDY. 


would  lift  her  attenuated  hand  armed  with  a knitting- 
needle  or  a ball  of  worsted,  and  assuming  the  action  of 
poising  a pistol,  execute  a smart  click  with  her  tongue,  and 
saj,  “I  hit  him  that  time." 

These  exclamations,  indicative  of  vengeance,  were  sup- 
posed at  length  by  the  family  to  apply  to  Edward  O'Con- 
nor,  but  excited  pity  rather  than  alarm.  When,  however, 
one  morning,  the  dowager  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and 
Ratty  and  the  pistols  had  also  disappeared,  an  inquiry  was 
instituted  as  to  the  old  lady's  whereabouts,  and  Mount 
Eskar  was  one  of  the  first  places  where  she  was  sought,  but 
without  success;  and  all  other  inquiries  were  equally  un- 
availing. 

The  old  lady  had  contrived,  with  that  cunning  peculiar 
to  insane  people,  to  get  away  from  the  house  at  an  early 
hour  in  the  morning,  unknown  to  all  except  Ratty,  to  whom 
she  confided  her  intention,  and  he  managed  to  get  her  out 
of  the  domain  unobserved,  and  thence  together  they  pro- 
ceeded to  Dublin  in  a post-chaise. 

It  was  the  day  after  this  secret  expedition  was  undertaken 
that  Mr.  Furlong  was  sitting  in  his  private  apartment  at 
the  Castle,  doing  “ the  state  some  service  " by  reading  the 
morning  papers,  which  heavy  official  duty  he  relieved  oc- 
casionally by  turning  to  some  scented  notes  which  lay  near 
a morocco  writing-case,  whence  they  had  been  drawn  by 
the  lisping  dandy  to  flatter  his  vanity.  He  had  been  carry- 
ing on  a correspondence  with  an  anonymous  fair  one,  in 
whose  heart,  if  her  words  might  be  believed,  Furlong  had 
made  desperate  havoc. 

It  happened,  however,  that  these  notes  were  all  fictitious, 
being  the  work  of  Tom  Loftus,  who  enjoyed  playing  on  a 
puppy  as  much  as  playing  on  the  organ;  and  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  Furlong  going  through  his  paces  in 
certain  squares  he  had  appointed,  wearing  a flower  of 
Tom's  choice  and  going  through  other  antics  which  Tom 
had  demanded  under  the  signature  of  “ Phillis,"  written  in 
a delicate  hand  on  pink  satin  note-paper  with  a lace  bor- 
der; one  of  the  last  notes  suggested  the  possibility  of  a visit 
from  the  lady,,  and,  after  assurances  of  “ secrecy  and  hon- 
or " had  been  returned  by  Furlong,  he  was  anxiously  ex- 
pecting “what  would  become  of  it;"  and  filled  with  pleas- 
ing reflections  of  what  “ a devil  of  a fellow  " he  was  among 
the  ladies,  he  occasionally  paced  the  room  before  a hand- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


m 


some  dressing-glass  (with  which  his  apartment  was  always 
furnished),  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  curls  with  a 
complacent  smile.  While  thus  occupied,  and  in  such  9 
frame  of  mind,  the  hall-messenger  entered  the  apartment, 
and  said  a lady  wished  to  see  him. 

“ A lady!”  exclaimed  Furlong,  in  delighted  surprise. 

“ She  won't  give  her  name,  sir,  but — ” 

“Show  her  up!  show  her  up!”  exclaimed  the  Lothario, 
eagerly. 

All  anxiety,  he  awaited  the  appearance  of  his  donna;  and 
quite  a donna  she  seemed,  as  a commanding  figure,  dressed 
in  black,  and  enveloped  in  a rich  veil  of  the  same,  glided 
into  the  room. 

“How  vewy  Spanish!”  exclaimed  Furlong,  as  he  ad- 
vanced to  meet  his  incognita,  who,  as  soon  as  she  entered, 
locked  the  door,  and  withdrew  the  key. 

“ Quite  pwacticed  in  such  secwet  affairs,”  said  Furlong, 
slyly.  “Fai'lady,  allow  me  to  touch  you' fai' hand,  and 
lead  you  to  a seat.” 

The  mysterious  stranger  made  no  answer;  but  lifting  her 
long  veil,  turned  round  on  the  lisping  dandy,  who  stagger- 
ed back,  when  the  Dowager  O'Grady  appeared  before  him, 
drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  and  anything  but  an  agreea- 
ble expression  in  her  eye.  She  stalked  up  toward  him, 
something  in  the  style  of  a specter  in  a romance,  which  she 
was  not  very  unlike;  and  as  she  advanced,  he  retreated, 
until  he  got  the  table  between  him  and  this  most  unwel- 
come apparition. 

“Iam  come,”  said  the  dowager,  with  an  ominous  tone  of 
voice. 

“ Vewy  happy  of  the  hono',  I am  sure,  Mistwess  O'Gwa- 
dy,”  faltered  Furlong. 

“The  avenger  has  come.”  Furlong  opened  his  eyes. 
“I  have  come  to  wash  the  stain!”  said  she,  tapping  her 
fingers  in  a theatrical  manner  on  the  taple,  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, she  pointed  to  a large  blotch  of  ink  on  the  table- 
cover.  Furlong  opened  his  eyes  wider  than  ever,  and 
thought  this  the  queerest  bit  of  madness  that  he  had  ever 
heard  of;  however,  thinking  it  best  to  humor  her,  he  an- 
swered, “ Yes,  it  was  a little  awkwa'dness  of  mine — I upset 
the  inkstand  the  othe'  day.” 

“ Do  you  mock  me,  sir?”  said  she,  with  increasing  bit- 
terness. 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“La,  no!  Mistwess  O'Gwady.” 

“ I have  come,  I say,  to  wash  out  in  your  blood  the  stain 
you  have  dared  to  put  on  the  name  of  O'Grady.” 

Furlong  gasped  with  mingled  amazement  and  fear. 

“ Tremble,  villain!”  she  said;  and  she  pointed  toward 
him  her  long,  attenuated  finger  with  portentous  so- 
lemnity. 

“ I weally  am  quite  at  a loss,  Mistwess  O'Gwady,  to  com- 
pwehend — ” 

Before  he  could  finish  his  sentence,  the  dowager  had 
drawn  from  the  depth  of  her  side-pockets  a brace  of  pistols, 
and  presenting  them  to  Furlong,  said,  “ Be  at  a loss  no 
longer,  except  the  loss  of  life  which  may  ensue;  take  your 
choice  of  weapons,  sir.” 

“ Gwacious  Heaven!”  exclaimed  Furlong,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

“ You  won't  choose,  then?”  said  the  dowager.  “ Well, 
there's  one  for  you;”  and  she  laid  a pistol  before  him  with 
as  courteous  a manner  as  if  she  were  making  him  a birth- 
day present. 

Furlong  stared  down  upon  it  with  a look  of  horror. 

“ Now  we  must  toss  for  choice  of  ground,”  said  the  dow- 
ager. “ I have  no  money  about  me,  for  I paid  my  last 
half-crown  to  the  postboy,  but  this  wili  do  as  well 
for  a toss  as  anything  else;”  and  she  laid  her  hands  on  the 
dressing-glass  as  she  spoke.  “ Now  the  call  shall  be  * safe/ 
or  ‘ smash/  whoever  calls  f safe/ if  the  glass  comes  down 
unbroken,  has  the  choice,  and  vice  versd.  I call  first — 
f Smash,’”  said  the  dowager,  as  she  flung  up  the  dressing- 
glass,  which  fell  in  shivers  on  the  floor.  “I  have  won,” 
said  she;  “oblige  me,  sir,  by  standing  in  that  far  corner. 
I have  the  light  in  my  back — and  you  wili  have  something 
else  in  yours  before  long;  take  your  ground,  sir.” 

Furlong,  finding  himself  thus  cooped  up  with  a mad 
woman,  in  an  agony  of  terror  suddenly  bethought  himself 
of  instances  he  had  heard  of  escape,  under  similar  circum- 
stances, by  coinciding  to  a certain  extent  with  the  views  of 
the  insane  people,  and  suggested  to  the  dowager  that  he 
hoped  she  would  not  insist  on  a duel  without  their  having 
a “ friend  ” present. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  sir,”  said  the  old  lady;  “ I quite 
forgot  that  form,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  though 


DANDY  ANDY.  423 

I have  not  overlooked  the  necessity  altogether,  and  have 
come  provided  with  one.” 

“ Allow  me  to  wing  for  him,”  said  Furlong,  rushing  to 
tha  bell. 

“Stop!”  exclaimed  the  dowager,  leveling  her  pistol  at 
the  bell-pull;  “touch  it,  and  you  are  a dead  man!” 

Furlong  stood  riveted  to  the  spot  where  his  rush  had 
been  arrested. 

“No  interruption,  sir,  till  this  little  affair  is  settled. 
Here  is  my  friend,”  she  added,  putting  her  hand  into  her 
pocket  and  pulling  out  the  wooden  cuckoo  of  her  clock. 
“My  little  bird,  sir,  will  see  fair  between  us;”  and  she 
perched  the  painted  wooden  thing,  with  a bit  of  feather 
grotesquely  sticking  up  out  of  its  nether  end,  on  the  mo- 
rocco letter-case. 

“ Oh,  Lord!”  said  Furlong. 

“He’s  a gentleman  of  the  nicest  honor,  sir!”  said  the 
dowager,  pacing  back  to  the  window. 

Furlong  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  of  her  back 
being  turned,  and  rushed  at  the  bell,  which  he  pulled  with 
great  fury. 

The  dowager  wheeled  round  with  haste.  “ So  you  have 
rung,”  said  she;  “but  it  shall  not  avail  you — the  door  is 
locked;  take  your  weapon,  sir,  quick! — what! — a coward!” 

“ Weally,  Mistwess  O’Gwady,  I can  not  think  of  deadly 
arbitrament  with  a lady.” 

“ Less  would  you  like  it  with  a man,  poltroon!”  said  she, 
with  an  exaggerated  expression  of  contempt  in  her  manner. 
“However,  she  added,  “if  you  are  a coward,  you  shall 
have  a coward’s  punishment.”  She  went  to  a corner  where 
stood  a great  variety  of  handsome  canes,  and  laying  hold 
of  one,  began  soundly  to  thrash  Furlong,  who  feared  to 
make  any  resistance  or  attempt  to  disarm  her  of  the  cane, 
for  the  pistol  was  yet  in  her  other  hand. 

The  bell  was  answered  by  the  servant,  who,  on  finding 
the  door  locked,  and  hearing  the  row  inside,  began  to 
knock  and  inquire  loudly  what  was  the  matter.  The 
question  was  more  loudly  answered  by  Furlong,  who  roared 
out,  “Bweak  the  door!  bweak  the  door!”  interlarding  his 
directions  with  cries  of  “mu’der!” 

The  door  at  length  was  forced,  Furlong  rescued,  and  the 
old  lady  separated  from  him.  She  became  perfectly  calm 
the  moment  other  persons  appeared,  and  was  replacing  the 


424 


HANDY  ANDY. 


pistols  in  her  pocket,  when  Furlong  requested  the  “ dwead- 
f ul  weapons 99  might  be  seized.  The  old  lady  gave  up  the 
pistols  very  quietly,  but  laid  hold  of  her  bird  and  put  it 
back  into  her  pocket.  • # 

“This  is  a dweadful  violation!”  said  Furlong,  “ and  my 
life  is  not  safe  unless  she  is  bound  ove'  to  keep  the  peace.  ” 

“Pooh!  pooh!”  said  one  of  the  gentlemen  from  the  ad- 
jacent office,  who  came  to  the  scene  on  hearing  the  uproar, 
“ binding  over  an  old  lady  to  keep  the  peace — nonsense!” 

“I  insist  upon  it,”  said  Furlong,  with  that  stubbornness 
for  which  fools  are  so  remarkable. 

“ Oh — very  well!”  said  the  sensible  gentleman,  who  left 
the  room. 

A party,  pursuant  to  Furlong's  determination,  proceeded 
to  the  head  police-office  close  by  the  Castle,  and  a large 
mob  gathered  as  they  went  down  Cork-hill  and  followed 
them  to  Exchange  Court,  where  they  crowded  before  them 
in  front  of  the  office,  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  the  prin- 
cipals could  make  their  way  through  the  dense  mass. 

At  length,  however,  they  entered  the  office;  and  when 
Major  Sir  heard  any  gentleman  attached  to  the  Govern- 
ment wanted  his  assistance,  of  course  he  put  any  other 
case  aside,  and  had  the  accuser  and  accused  called  up  be- 
fore him. 

Furlong  made  his  charge  of  assault  and  battery,  with  in- 
tent to  murder,  etc.,  etc. 

“ Some  mad  old  rebel,  I suppose,”  said  Major  Sir.  “ Do 
you  remember  '98,  ma'am?”  said  the  major. 

“Indeed  I do,  sir — and  I remember  you  too:  Major  Sir 
I have  the  honor  to  address,  if  I don't  mistake.” 

“ Yes,  ma'am.  What  then?” 

“ I remember  well  in  '98  when  you  were  searching  for 
rebels,  you  thought  a man  was  concealed  in  a dairy-yard  in 
the  neighborhood  of  my  mother's  house,  major,  in  Stephen's 
Green ; and  you  thought  he  was  hid  in  a hay-rick,  and  ordered 
your  sergeant  to  ask  for  the  loan  of  a spit  from  my  mother's 
kitchen  to  probe  the  haystack.” 

“ Oh,  then,  madam,  your  mother  was  loyal , I suppose.* 

“Most  loyal,  sir.” 

“ Give  the  lady  a chair,'  said  the  major. 

“ Thank  you,  I don't  want  it — but,  major,  when  you 
asked  for  the  spit,  my  mother  thought  you  were  going  to 
practice  one  of  your  delightfully  ingenious  bits  of  punish- 


hahdy  astdy.  425 

frient,  and  asked  the  sergeant  who  it  was  you  were  going 
to  roast  ?” 

The  major  grew  livid  on  the  bench  where  he  sat,,  at  this 
awkward  reminiscence  of  one  of  his  friends,  and  a dead 
silence  reigned  through  the  crowded  office.  He  recovered 
himself,  however,  and  addressed  Mrs.  O'Grady  in  a mum- 
bling manner,  telling  her  she  must  give  security  to  keep 
the  peace,  herself — and  find  friends  as  sureties.  On  asking 
her  had  she  any  friends  to  appear  for  her,  she  declared  she 
had. 

“ A gentleman  of  the  nicest  honor,  sir,”  said  the  dow- 
ager, pulling  her  cuckoo  from  her  pocket,  and  holding  it 
up  in  view  of  the  whole  office. 

A shout  of  laughter,  of  course,  followed.  The  affair  her 
came  at  once  understood  in  its  true  light;  a mad  old  lady 
*-a  paltry  coward — etc.,  etc.  Those  who  know  the  excit- 
ability and  fun  of  an  IrLh  mob,  will  not  wonder  that,  when 
the  story  got  circulated  from  the  office  to  the  crowd  with- 
out, which  it  did  with  lightning  rapidity,  the  old  lady,  on 
being  placed  in  a hackney-coach  which  was  sent  for,  was 
hailed  with  a chorus  of  “ Cuckoo!”  by  the  multitude,  one 
half  of  which  ran  after  the  coach  as  long  as  they  could 
keep  pace  with  it,  shouting  forth  the  spring-time  call,  and 
the  other  half  followed  Furlong  to  the  Castle,  with  hisses 
and  other  more  articulate  demonstrations  of  their  contempt. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

The  fat  and  fair  widow  Flanagan  had,  at  length,  given 
up  shilly-shallying,  and  yielding  to  the  fervent  entreaties  of 
Tom  Durfy,  had  consented  to  name  the  happy  day.  She 
would  have  some  little  ways  of  her  own  about  it,  however, 
and  instead  of  being  married  in  the  country,  insisted  on  the 
nuptial  knot  being  tied  in  Dublin.  Thither  the  widow  re- 
paired with  her  swain  to  complete  the  stipulated  time  of 
residence  within  some  metropolitan  parish  before  the  wed- 
ding could  take  place.  In  the  meanwhile  they  enjoyed  all 
the  gayety  the  capital  presented,  the  time  glided  swiftly  by, 
and  Tom  was  within  a day  of  being  made  a happy  man, 
when,  as  he  was  hastening  to  the  lodgings  of  the  fair 
widow,  who  was  waiting  with  her  bonnet  and  shawl  on  to 
be  escorted  to  the  botanical  gardens  at  Glasnevin,  he  was 


m 


ftAXbt  AtfDf. 


accosted  by  an  odd-looking  person  of  somewhat  sinistei 
aspect. 

“ I believe  I have  the  honor  of  addressing  Misther  Durfy, 
sir?”  Tom  answered  in  the  affirmative.  “ Thomas  Durfy, 
Esquire,  I think,  sir?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ This  is  for  you,  sir,”  he  said,  handiag  Tom  a piece  of 
dirty  printed  paper,  and  at  the  same  time  laying  his 
hand  on  Tom's  shoulder  and  executing  a smirking  sort  of 
grin,  which  he  meant  to  be  the  pattern  of  politeness,  added, 
“ You'll  excuse  me,  sir,  but  I arrest  you  under  a warrant 
from  the  High  Sheriff  of  the  city  of  Dublin;  always  sorry, 
sir,  for  a gintleman  in  defficulties,  but  it's  my  duty.” 

“ You're  a bailiff,  then?”  said  Tom. 

tc  Sir,”  said  the  bum, 

“ * Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 

Act  well  your  part — there  all  the  honor  lies."* 

“I  meant  no  offense,” said  Tom.  “I  only  meant — ” 

“ I understand,  sir — I understand.  These  little  defficul- 
ties startles  gintlemen  at  first — you've  not  been  used  to 
arrest,  I see,  sir?” 

“ Never  in  my  life  did  such  a thing  happen  before,”  said 
Tom.  “ I live  generally,  thank  God,  where  a bailiff  daren't 
show  his  face.” 

“Ah,  sir,”  said  the  bailiff,  with  a grin,  “them  rustic 
habits  betrays  the  children  o'  nature  often  when  they  come 
to  town;  but  we  are  so  fisticated  here  in  the  metropolis, 
that  we  lay  our  hand  on  strangers  aisy.  But  you'd  better  not 
stand  in  the  street,  sir,  or  people  will  understand  it's  an 
arrest,  sir;  and  I suppose  you  wouldn't  like  the  exposure. 
I can  simperise  in  a gintleman's  feelings,  sir.  If  you  walk 
aisy  on,  sir,  and  don't  attempt  to  escape  or  rescue.  I'll  keep 
a gentlemanlike  distance.” 

Tom  walked  on  in  great  perplexity  for  a few  steps,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  The  hour  of  his  rendezvous  had 
struck;  he  knew  how  impatient  of  neglect  the  widow  al- 
ways was;  he  at  one  moment  thought  of  asking  the  bailiff 
co  allow  him  to  proceed  to  her  lodgings  at  once,  there 
boldly  to  avow  what  had  taken  place  and  ask  her  to  dis- 
charge the  debt;  but  this  his  pride  would  not  allow  him  to 
do.  As  he  came  to  the  corner  of  a street,  he  got  a tap  on 
Dhe  elbow  from  the  bailiff,  who,  with  a jerking  motion  of 


HAHDT  AND*. 


his  thumb  and  a wink*  said  in  a confidential  tone  to  Tom* 
“ Down  this  street,  sir — that's  the  way  to  the  pres’n 
(prison)." 

“Prison!"  exclaimed  Tom,  halting  involuntarily  at  the 
word. 

“ Shove  on,  sir — shove  on!"  hastily  repeated  the  sheriff's 
officer,  urging  his  orders  by  a nudge  or  two  on  Tom's 
elbow. 

“Don't  shove  me,  sir!"  said  Tom,  rather  angrily,  “or 
by  G— " 

“Aisy,  sir — aisy!"  said  the  bailiff;  “though  I feel  for 
the  defficulties  of  a gintleman,  the  caption  must  be  made, 
sir.  If  you  don't  like  the  pris'n,  I have  a nice  little  room 
o'  my  own,  sir,  where  you  can  wait,  for  a small  considera- 
tion, until  you  got  get  bail." 

“ I'll  go  there,  then,"  said  Tom.  “ Go  through  as  pri- 
vate streets  as  you  can." 

“Give  me  half-a-guinea  for  my  trouble,  sir,  and  111 
ambulate  you  through  lanes  every  fut  o'  the  way." 

“ Very  well,"  said  Tom. 

They  now  struck  into  a shabby  street,  and  thence  wend- 
ed through  stable-lanes,  filthy  alleys,  up  greasy  broken 
steps,  through  one  close,  and  down  steps  in  another — 
threaded  dark  passages  whose  debouchures  were  blocked  up 
with  posts  to  prevent  vehicular  conveyance,  the  accumu- 
lated dirt  of  years  sensible  to  the  tread  from  its  lumpy  un- 
evenness, and  the  stagnant  air  rife  with  pestilence.  Tom 
felt  increasing  disgust  at  every  step  he  proceeded,  but  any- 
thing to  him  appeared  better  than  being  seen  in  the  public 
streets  in  such  company;  for,  until  they  got  into  these 
labyrinths  of  nastiness,  Tom  thought  he  saw  in  the  looks 
of  every  passer-by,  as  plainly  told  as  if  the  words  were 
spoken,  “ There  goes  a fellow  under  the  care  of  the  bailiff." 
In  these  by-ways,  he  had  not  any  objection  to  speak  to  his 
companion,  and  for  the  first  time  asked  him  what  he  was 
arrested  for. 

“ At  the  suit  of  Mr.  M'Kail,  sir." 

“Oh!  the  tailor?"  said  Tom. 

“Yes,  sir,"  said  the  bailiff.  “And  if  you  would  not 
consider  it  trifling  with  the  feelings  of  a gmtleman  in  def- 
ficulties, I would  make  the  playful  observation,  sir,  that 
it's  quite  in  character  to  be  arrested  at  the  suit  of  a tailor. 
He!  he!  he!" 


438 


SAtfDY  Aim?. 


€C  You’re  a wag,  I see,”  said  Tom. 

“ Oh,  no,  sir,  only  a poetic  turn:  a small  affection  I have 
certainly  for  Judy  Mot,  but  my  rale  passion  is  the  muses. 
We  are  not  far  now,  sir,  from  my  little  bower  of  repose — 
which  is  the  name  I give  my  humble  abode — small,  but 
snug,  sir.  You’ll  see  another  gintleman  there,  sir,  before 
you.  He  is  waitin’  for  bail  those  three  or  four  days,  sir — 
can’t  pay  as  he  ought  for  the  commodation,  but  he’s  a friend 
o’  mine,  I may  almost  say,  sir — a litherary  gintleman — 
them  litherary  gintlemen  is  always  in  defficulties  mostly. 
I suppose  you’re  a litherary  gintleman,  sir,  although  you’re 
rather  ginteely  dhressed  for  one?” 

“ No,”  said  Tom,  “ I am  not.” 

“ I thought  you  wor,  sir,  by  being  acquainted  with  this 
other  gintleman.” 

“ An  acquaintance  of  mine!”  said  Tom,  with  surprise. 

“Yis,  sir.  In  short  it  was  through  him  I found  out 
where  you  wor,  sir.  I have  had  the  wret  agen  you  for 
some  time,  but  couldn’t  make  you  off,  till  my  friend  says  I 
must  carry  a note  from  him  to  you.” 

“ Where  is  the  note?”  inquired  Tom. 

“Not  ready  yet,  sir.  It’s  po’thry  he’s  writin’ — some- 
thing * pithy’  he  said,  and  ‘lame’  too.  I dunna  how  a 
thing  could  be  pithy  and  lame  together,  but  them  potes  has 
hard  words  at  command.” 

“ Then  you  came  away  without  the  note?” 

“Yis,  sir.  As  soon  as  I found  out  where  you  were 
stopping  I ran  off  directly  on  Mr.  M’Kail’s  little  business. 
You’ll  excuse  the  liberty,  sir;  but  we  must  all  mind  our 
professions;  though,  indeed,  sir,  if  you  b’lieve  me,  I’d 
rather  nab  a rhyme  than  a gintleman  any  day;  and  if  I 
could  get  on  the  press  I’d  quit  the  shoulder-tapping  pro- 
fession.” 

Tom  cast  an  eye  of  wonder  on  the  bailiff,  which  the  lat- 
ter comprehended  at  once;  for  with  habitual  nimbleness 
he  could  nab  a man’s  thoughts  as  fast  as  his  person. 

“ I know  what  you’re  thinkin’,  sir — could  one  of  my  pro- 
fession pursue  the  muses?  Don’t  think,  sir,  I mane  I could 
write  the  * laders  ’ or  the  pollitik’l  articles,  but  the  criminal 
cases,  sir — the  robberies  and  offinses — with  the  watch-house 
cases — together  with  a little  po’thry  now  and  then.  I 
think  I could  be  useful,  sir,  and  do  better  than  some  of  the 


HANDY  ANDY.  429 

# 

chaps  that  pick  up  their  ha'pence  that  way.  But  here’s 
my  place,  sir — my  little  bower  of  repose." 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  a small  tumble-down  house 
in  a filthy  lane,  the  one  window  it  presented  in  front  be- 
ing barred  with  iron.  Some  bolts  were  drawn  inside,  and 
though  the  man  who  opened  the  door  was  forbidding  in  his 
aspect,  he  did  not  refuse  to  let  Tom  in.  The  portal  was 
hastily  closed  and  bolted  after  they  had  entered.  The 
smell  of  the  house  was  pestilential — the  entry  dead  dark. 

“ Give  me  your  hand,  sir,"  said  the  bailiff,  leading  Tom 
forward.  They  ascended  some  creaking  stairs,  and  the 
bailiff,  fumbling  for  some  time  with  a key  at  a door,  un- 
locked it  and  shoved  it  open,  and  then  led  in  his  captive. 
Tom  saw  a shabby-genteel  sort  of  person,  whose  back  was 
toward  him,  directing  a letter. 

“ Ah,  Goggins!"  said  the  writer,  “ you're  come  back  in 
the  nick  of  time.  I have  finished  now,  and  you  may  take 
the  letter  to  Mister  Durfy." 

“ You  may  give  it  to  him  yourself,  sir,"  replied  Gog- 
gins, “for  here  he  is." 

“ Indeed!"  said  the  writer,  turning  round. 

“ What!"  exclaimed  Tom  Durfy,  in  surprise;  “ James 
Reddy!" 

“ Even  so,"  said  James,  with  a sentimental  air: 

“ * The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave/ 

Literature  is  a bad  trade,  my  dear  Tom! — 'tis  ungrate- 
ful world — men  of  the  highest  aspirations  may  lie  in  gail 
for  all  the  world  cares;  not  that  you  come  within  the  pale 
of  the  worthless  ones;  this  is  good-natured  of  you  to  come 
and  see  u friend  in  trouble.  You  deserve,  my  dear  Tom, 
that  you  should  have  been  uppermost  in  my  thoughts;  for 
here  is  a note  I have  just  written  to  you,  inclosing  a copy 
of  verses  to  you  on  your  marriage — in  short,  it  is  an  epi- 
thalamium." 

“ That's  what  I told  you,  sir,"  said  Goggins  to  Tom. 

“May  the  devil  burn  you  and  your epithalamium!" said 
Tom  Durfy,  stamping  round  the  little  room. 

James  Beddy  stared  in  wonder,  and  Goggins  roared, 
laughing. 

“A  pretty  compliment  you've  paid  me.  Mister  Beddy, 
this  fine  morning,"  said  Tom;  “you  tell  a bailiff  where  1 


430 


HANDY  ANDY. 


live,  that  you  may  send  your  infernal  verses  to  me,  and  yoty 
get  me  arrested.” 

“Oh,  murder!”  exclaimed  James.  “I’m  very  sorry, 
my  dear  Tom;  but,  at  the  same  time,  'tis  a capital  inci- 
dent! How  it  would  work  up  in  a farce!” 

“How  funny  it  is!”  said  Tom  in  a rage,  eying  James 
as  if  he  could  have  eaten  him.  “ Bad  luck  to  all  poetry 
and  poetasters!  By  the  'tarnal  war,  I wish  every  poet, 
from  Homer  down,  was  put  into  a mortar  and  pounded  to 
death !” 

James  poured  forth  expressions  of  sorrow  for  the  mis- 
chance; and  extremely  ludicrous  it  was  to  see  one  man 
making  apologies  for  trying  to  pay  his  friend  a complb 
ment;  his  friend  swearing  at  him  for  his  civility,  and  th 
bailiff  grinning  at  them  both. 

In  this  triangular  dilemma  we  will  leave  them  for  tin 
present. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

Edward  O'Connor,  on  hearing  from  Gustavus  of  the 
old  dowager's  disappearance  from  Neck-or-nothing  Hall, 
joined  in  the  eager  inquiries  which  were  made  about  her; 
and  his  being  directed  with  more  method  and  judgment 
than  those  of  others,  their  result  was  more  satisfactory. 
He  soon  “ took  up  the  trail/'  to  use  an  Indian  phrase,  and 
he  and  Gusty  were  not  many  hours  in  posting  after  the  old 
lady.  They  arrived  in  town  early  in  the  morning,  and  lost 
fro  time  in  casting  about  for  information. 

One  of  the  first  places  Edward  inquired  at  was  the  inn 
Where  the  post-chaise  generally  drove  to  from  the  house 
where  the  old  dowager  had  obtained  her  carriage  in 
the  country;  but  there  no  trace  was  to  be  had.  Next,  the 
principal  hotels  were  referred  to,  but  as  yet  without  success; 
when,  as  they  turned  into  one  of  the  leading  streets  in  con- 
tinuance of  their  search,  their  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
crowd  swaying  to  and  fro  in  that  peculiar  manner  which 
indicates  there  is  a fight  inside  of  it.  Great  excitement 
prevailed  on  the  verge  of  the  crowd,  where  exclamations 
escaped  from  those  who  could  get  a peep  at  the  fight. 

“ The  little  chap  has  great  heart!”  cried  one. 

“ But  the  sweep  is  the  biggest,”  said  another. 


HANDY  ANDY.  431 

^Well  done,  Horish!”*  cried  a blackguard,  who  enjoyed 
the  triumph  of  his  fellow. 

“ Bravo!  little  fellow,”  rejoined  a genteel  person,  who 
rejoiced  in  some  successful  hit  of  the  other  combatant. 
There  is  an  inherent  love  in  men  to  see  a fight,  whicli 
Edward  O'Connor  shared  with  inferior  men;  and  if  he  had 
not  peeped  into  the  ring,  most  assuredly  Gusty  would. 
What  was  their  astonishment  when  they  got  a glimpse  of 
the  pugilists,  to  perceive  Ratty  was  one  of  them — his  an- 
tagonist being  a sweep,  taller  by  a head,  and  no  bad  hand 
at  the  “ noble  science.” 

Edward's  first  impulse  was  to  separate  them,  but  Gusty 
requested  he  would  not,  saying  that  he  saw  by  Ratty's  eye  he 
Was  able  to  “ lick  the  fellow.”  Ratty  certainly  showed  great 
fight;  what  the  sweep  had  in  superior  size  was  equalized  by 
the  superior  “ game”  of  the  gentleman-boy,  to  whom  the 
indomitable  courage  of  a high-blooded  race  had  descended, 
and  who  would  sooner  have  died  than  yield.  Besides,  Ratty 
was  not  deficient  in  the  use  of  his  “ bunch  of  fives,”  hit 
hard  for  his  size,  and  was  very  agile;  the  sweep  sometimes 
made  a rush,  grappled,  and  got  a fall;  but  he  never  went 
in  without  getting  something  from  Ratty  to  “remember 
him,”  and  was  not  always  uppermost.  At  last,  both  were 
so  far  punished,  and  the  combat  not  being  likely  to  be 
speedily  ended  (for  the  sweep  was  no  craven),  that  the  by- 
standers interfered,  declaring  that  “they  ought  to  be 
separated,”  and  they  were. 

While  the  crowd  was  dispersing  Edward  called  a coach; 
and  before  Ratty  could  comprehend  how  the  affair  was 
managed,  he  was  shoved  into  it  and  driven  from  the  scene 
of  action.  Ratty  had  a confused  sense  of  hearing  loud 
shouts — of  being  lifted  somewhere — of  directions  given — 
the  rattle  of  iron  steps  clinking  sharply — two  or  three 
fierce  bangs  of  a door  that  wouldn't  shut,  and  then  an  aw- 
ful shaking,  which  roused  him  up  from  the  comer  of  the 
vehicle,  into  which  he  had  fallen  in  the  first  moment  of 
exhaustion.  Eatty  “ shock  his  feathers,”  dragged  his  hair 
from  out  of  his  eyes,  which  were  getting  very  black  in- 
deed, and  applied  his  handkerchief  to  his  nose,  which  wra3 
much  in  need  of  that  delicate  attention;  and  when  the  sense 

* The  name  of  a celebrated  sweep  in  Ireland,  whose  name  is  ap- 
plied to  the  whole. 


432 


KAKDY  ANDY. 


of  perfect  vision  was  restored  to  him,  which  was  not  for 
some  time  (all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  dancing  before 
Batty's  eyes  for  many  seconds  after  the  fight),  what  was  his 
surprise  to  see  Edward  O’Connor  and  Gusty  sitting  on  the 
opposite  seat! 

It  was  some  time  before  Eatty  could  quite  comprehend 
his  present  situation;  but  as  soon  as  he  was  made  sensible 
of  it,  and  could  answer,  the  first  question  asked  of  him  was 
about  his  grandmother.  Eatty  fortunately  remembered  the 
name  of  the  hotel  where  she  put  up,  though  he  had  left  it 
as  soon  as  the  old  lady  had  proceeded  to  the  Castle — had 
lost  his  way — and  got  engaged  in  a quarrel  with  a sweep  in 
the  meantime. 

The  coach  was  ordered  to  drive  to  the  hotel  named;  and 
how  the  fight  occurred  was  the  next  question. 

“ The  sweep  was  passing  by,  and  I called  him  c snow- 
ball/ " said  Eatty;  “ and  the  blackguard  returned  an  impu- 
dent answer,  and  I hit  him.” 

“You  had  no  right  to  call  him  c snow-ball/  ” said  Ed- 
ward. 

“ I always  called  the  sweeps  * snow-ball ' down  at  the 
Hall,”  said  Eatty,  “ and  they  never  answered.” 

“ When  you  are  on  your  own  territory  you  may  say  what 
you  please  to  your  dependents,  Eatty,  and  they  dare  not 
answer;  or  to  use  a vulgar  saying,  * A cock  may  crow  on  his 
own  dunghill.” 

“ Fm  no  dunghill  cock!”  said  Eatty,  fiercely. 

“ Indeed  you're  not,”  said  Edward,  laying  his  hand  kindly 
on  the  boy's  shoulder;  “ you  have  plenty  of  courage.” 

“ I'd  have  licked  him,”  said  Eatty,  “ if  they'd  have  let 
me  have  two  or  three  rounds  more.” 

“My  dear  boy,  other  things  are  needful  in  this  world 
besides  courage.  Prudence,  temper,  and  forbearance  are 
required;  and  this  may  be  a lesson  to  you,  to  remember, 
that,  when  you  get  abroad  in  the  world,  you  are  very  little 
cared  about,  however  great  your  consequence  may  be  at 
home;  and  I am  sure  you  can  not  be  proud  about  having 
got  into  a quarrel  with  a sweep” 

Eatty  made  no  answer — his  blood  began  to  cool — he  be- 
came every  moment  more  sensible  that  he  had  received 
heavy  blows.  His  eyes  became  more  swollen,  he  snuffled 
more  in  his  speech,  and  his  blackened  condition  altogether. 


HANDY  ANDY*  433 

from  gutter,  soot,  and  thrashing,  convinced  him  a fight 

with  a sweep  was  not  an  enviable  achievement. 

The  coach  drew  up  at  the  hotel.  Edward  left  Gusty  to 
see  about  the  dowager,  and  made  an  appointment  for 
Gusty  to  meet  him  at  his  own  lodgings  in  an  hour;  while 
he  in  the  interim  should  call  on  Dick  Dawson,  who  was  in 
town  on  his  way  to  London. 

Edward  shook  hands  with  Ratty,  and  bade  him  kindly 
good-bye.  “ You're  a stout  fellow.  Ratty,”  said  he,  “but 
remember  this  old  saying,  ‘ Quarrelsome  dogs  get  dirty 
coats.’” 

Edward  now  proceeded  to  Dick’s  lodgings,  and  found 
him  engaged  in  reading  a note  from  Tom  Durfy,  dated 
from  the  “Bower  of  Repose,”  and  requesting  Dick’s  aid  in 
his  present  difficulty. 

“Here’s  a pretty  kettle  of  fish,”  said  Dick.  “Tom 
Durfy,  who  is  engaged  to  dine  with  me  to-day,  to  take 
leave  of  his  bachelor  life,  as  he  is  going  to  be  married  to- 
morrow, is  arrested,  and  now  in  quod , and  wants  me  to 
bail  him.” 

“ The  shortest  way  is  to  pay  the  money  at  once,”  said 
Edward;  “ is  it  much?” 

“ That  I don’t  know;  but  I have  not  a great  deal  about 
me,  and  what  I have  I want  for  my  journey  to  London 
and  my  expenses  there — not  but  what  I’d  help  Tom  if  I 
could.” 

“ He  must  not  be  allowed  to  remain  there , however  we 
manage  to  get  him  out,”  said  Edward;  “perhaps  I can 
help  you  in  the  affair.  ” 

“ You’re  always  a good  fellow,  Ned,”  said  Dick,  shaking 
his  hand  warmly. 

Edward  escaped  from  hearing  any  praise  of  himself  by 
proposing  that  they  should  repair  at  once  to  the  sponging- 
house,  and  see  how  matters  stood.  Dick  lamented  lie 
should  be  called  away  at  such  a moment,  for  he  was  just 
going  to  get  his  wine  ready  for  the  party — particularly 
some  champagne,  which  he  was  desirous  of  seeing  well  iced; 
but  as  he  could  not  wait  to  do  it  himself,  he  called  Andy, 
to  give  him  directions  about  it,  and  set  off  with  Edward  to 
the  relief  of  Tom  Durfy. 

Andy  was  once  more  in  service  in  the  Egan  family;  for 
the  Squire,  on  finding  him  still  more  closely  linked  by  his 
marriage  with  the  desperate  party  whose  influence  over 


434 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Andy  was  to  be  dreaded,,  took  advantage  of  Andy’s  disgust 
against  the  woman  who  had  entrapped  him,  and  offered  to 
take  him  off  to  London  instead  of  enlisting;  and  as  Andy 
believed  he  would  be  there  sufficiently  out  of  the  way  of  the 
false  Bridget,  he  came  off  at  once  to  Dublin  with  Dick, 
who  was  the  pioneer  of  the  party  to  London. 

Dick  gave  Andy  the  necessary  directions  for  icing  the 
champagne,  which  he  set  apart  and  pointed  out  most  par- 
ticularly to  our  hero,  lest  he  should  make  a mistake  and 
perchance  ice  the  port  instead. 

After  Edward  and  Dick  had  gone,  Andy  commenced 
operations  according  to  orders.  He  brought  a large  tub 
upstairs  containing  rough  ice,  which  excited  Andy’s  wonder, 
for  he  never  had  known  till  now  that  ice  was  preserved  for 
and  applied  to  such  a use,  for  an  ice-house  did  not  happen 
to  be  attached  to  any  establishment  in  which  he  had 
served. 

“ Well,  this  is  the  queerist  thing  I ever  heerd  of,”  said 
Andy.  “Musha!  what  outlandish  inventions  the  quality 
has  among  them ! They’re  not  contint  with  wine,  but  they 
must  have  ice  along  with  it — and  in  a tub,  too! — just  like 
pigs! — throth  it’s  a dirty  thrick,  I think.  Well,  here 
goes!”  said  he;  and  Andy  opened  a bottle  of  champagne, 
and  poured  it  into  the  tub  with  the  ice.  “How  it  fizzes!” 
said  Andy.  “ Faix,  it’s  almost  as  lively  as  the  soda-wather 
that  bothered  me  long  ago.  Well,  I know  more  about 
things  now;  sure  its  wonderful  how  a man  improves  with 
practice!” — and  another  bottle  of  champagne  was  emptied 
into  the  tub  as  he  spoke.  Thus  with  several  other  com- 

Elacent  comments  upon  his  own  proficiency,  Andy  poured 
alf  a dozen  of  champagne  into  the  tub  of  ice,  and  re- 
marked when  he  had  finished  his  work,  that  he  thought  it 
would  be  “mighty  cowld  on  their  stomachs.” 

******* 

Dick  and  Edward  all  this  time  were  on  their  way  to  the 
relief  of  Tom  Durfy,  who,  though  he  had  cooled  down 
from  the  boiling-pitch  to  which  the  misadventure  of  the 
morning  had  raised  him,  was  still  simmering , with  his 
elbows  planted  on  the  rickety  table  in  Mr.  Goggins’ 
“ bower,”  and  his  chin  resting  on  his  clinched  hands.  It 
was  the  very  state  of  mind  in  which  Tom  was  most 
dangerous* 


HAtfDY  AKDY. 


435 


At  the  other  side  of  the  table  sat  James  Reddy,  intently 
employed  in  writing;  his  pursed  mouth  and  knitted  brows 
bespoke  a laboring  state  of  thought,  and  the  various  cross- 
ings, interlinings,  and  blottings  gave  additional  evidence 
of  the  same,  while  now  and  then  a rush  at  a line  which 
was  knocked  olf  in  a hurry,  with  slashing  dashes  of  the 
pen,  and  fierce  after-crossings  of  t’s,  and  determined  dot- 
tings  of  i’s,  declared  some  thought  suddenly  seized,  and 
executed  with  bitter  triumph. 

“ You  seem  happy  in  yourself  in  what  you  are  writing,” 
said  Tom.  “ What  is  it?  another  epithalamium?” 

“It  is  a caustic  article  against  the  successful  men  of  the 
day,”  said  Reddy;  “ they  have  no  merit,  sir — none.  'Tis 
nothing  but  luck  has  placed  them  where  they  are,  and  they 
ought  to  be  exposed.”  He  then  threw  down  his  pen  as  he 
spoke,  and,  after  a silence  of  some  minutes,  suddenly  put 
this  question  to  Tom: 

“ What  do  you  think  of  the  world?” 

“ Faith  I think  it  so  pleasant  a place,”  said  Tom,  “ that 
I'm  confoundedly  vexed  at  being  kept  out  of  it  by  being 
locked  up  here;  and  that  cursed  bailiff  is  so  provoking! y 
free-and-easy — coming  in  here  every  ten  minutes,  and  mak- 
ing himself  at  home.  ” 

“ Why,  as  for  that  matter,  it  is  his  home,  you  must  re- 
member.” 

“But  while  a gentleman  is  here  for  a period,”  said  Tom, 
“ this  room  ought  to  be  considered  his,  and  that  fellow  has 
no  business  here — and  then  his  bows  and  scrapes,  and  talk- 
ing about  the  feelings  of  a gentleman,  and  all  that — 'tis 
enough  to  make  a dog  beat  his  father.  Curse  him!  Fd  like 
to  choke  him.” 

“ Oh!  that's  merely  his  manner,”  said  James. 

“Want  of  manners,  you  mean,”  said  Tom.  “Hang 
me,  if  he  comes  up  to  me  with  his  rascally  familiarity 
again,  but  I'll  kick  him  down-stairs.” 

“ My  dear  fellow,  you  are  excited,”  said  Reddy;  “ don't 
let  these  sublunary  trifles  ruffle  your  temper — you  see  how 
I bear  it;  and  to  recall  you  to  yourself,  I will  remind  you 
of  the  question  we  started  from,  What  do  you  think  of  the 
world?'  There's  a general  question — a broad  question,  upon 
which  one  may  talk  with  temper  and  soar  above  the  petty 
grievances  of  life  in  the  grand  consideration  of  so  ample  a 
subject.  You  see  me  here,  a prisoner  like  yourself,  but  X can 


43G 


HAKDY  AKDY. 


talk  of  the  world . Come,  be  a calm  philosopher,  like  me' 
Answer,  what  do  you  think  of  the  world?" 

“ Fve  told  you  already,"  said  Tom;  “it's  a capital 
place,  only  for  the  bailiffs." 

“ I can't  agree  with  you,"  said  James.  “ I think  it  one 
vast  pool  of  stagnant  wretchedness,  where  the  malaria  of 
injustice  holds  her  scales  suspended,  to  poison  rising  talent 
by  giving  an  undue  weight  to  existing  prejudices." 

To  this  lucid  and  good-tempered  piece  of  philosophy, 
Tom  could  only  answer,  “ You  know  I am  no  poet,  and  I 
can  not  argue  with  you;  but,  'pon  my  soul,  I have  known, 
and  do  know,  some  uncommon  good  fellows  in  the  world." 

“ You're  wrong,  you're  wrong,  my  unsuspecting  friend. 
'Tis  a bad  world,  and  no  place  for  susceptible  minds. 
Jealousy  pursues  talent  like  its  shadow — superiority  alone 
wins  for  you  the  hatred  of  inferior  men.  For  instance, 
why  am /here?  The  editor  of  my  paper  will  not  allow 
my  articles  always  to  appear;  prevents  their  insertion,  lest 
the  effect  they  would  make  would  cause  inquiry,  and  tend 
to  my  distinction;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  the  papei  1 
came  to  uphold  in  Dublin  is  deprived  of  my  articles,  and  1 
don't  get  paid;  while  / see  inferior  men,  without  asking 
for  it,  loaded  with  favor;  they  are  abroad  in  affluence,  and 
I in  captivity  and  poverty.  But  one  comfort  is,  even  in 
disgrace  I oan  write,  and  they  shall  get  a slashing." 

Thus  spoke  the  calm  philosopher,  who  gave  Tom  a 
lecture  on  patience. 

Tom  was  no  great  conjuror;  but  at  that  moment,  like 
Audrey,  “he  thanked  the  gods  he  was  not  poetical."  If 
there  be  any  one  thing  more  than  another  to  make  an 
“ every-day  man  " content  with  his  average  lot  it  is  the 
exhibition  of  ambitious  inferiority,  striving  for  distinction 
it  can  never  attain;  just  given  sufficient  perception  to  de- 
sire the  glory  of  success,  without  power  to  measure  the 
strength  that  can  achieve  it;  like  some  poor  fly,  which  beats 
its  head  against  a pane  of  glass,  seeing  the  sunshine  beyond, 
but  incapable  of  perceiving  the  subtle  medium  which  in- 
tervenes— too  delicate  for  its  limited  sense  to  comprehend, 
but  too  strong  for  its  limited  power  to  pass. 

But  though  Tom  felt  satisfaction  at  that  moment,  he 
had  too  good  feeling  to  wound  the  self-love  of  the  vain 
creature  before  him;  so,  instead  of  speaking  what  he 
thought,  viz.,  “What  business  have  you  to  attempt  liter- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


43?' 


aturo,  you  conceited  fool?”  he  tried  to  wean  him  civilly 
from  his  folly  by  saying.  “ Then  come  back  to  the  coun- 
try, James;  if  you  find  jealous  rivals  here , you/know  you 
were  always  admired  there." 

“No,  sir,”  said  James;  “even  there  my  merit  was  un- 
acknowledged.” 

“No!  no!”  said  Tom. 

“Well,  underrated,  at  least.  Even  there,  that  Edward 
O'Connor,  somehow  or  other,  I never  could  tell  why — ] 
never  saw  his  great  talents — but  somehow  or  other,  people 
got  it  into  their  heads  that  he  was  clever.” 

“I  tell  you  what  it  is,”  said  Tom,  earnestly,  “Ned-of-r 
the-Hill  has  got  into  a better  place  than  people's  heads— > 
he  has  got  into  their  hearts  /” 

“There  it  is!”  exclaimed  James,  indignantly.  “You 
have  caught  up  the  cuckoo-cry — the  heart!  Why,  sir,  what 
merit  is  there  in  writing  about  feelings  which  any  common 
laborer  can  comprehend?  There's  no  poetry  in  that;  true 
poetry  lies  in  a higher  sphere,  w here  you  have  difficulty  in 
following  the  flight  of  the  poet,  and  possibly  may  not  be 
fortunate  enough  to  understand  him — that's  poetry,  sir.” 

“ I told  you  I am  no  poet,”  said  Tom;  “but  all  I know 
is,  I have  felt  my  heart  warm  to  some  of  Edward's  songs, 
and,  by  jingo,  I have  seen  the  women's  eyes  glisten,  and 
their  cheeks  flush  or  grow  pale,  as  they  have  heard  them-- 
and  that's  poetry  enough  for  me.” 

“ Well,  let  Mister  O'Connor  enjoy  his  popularity,  sir,  if 
popularity  it  may  be  called,  in  a small  country  circle — let 
him  enjoy  it — I don't  envy  him  his,  though  I think  he  was 
rather  jealous  about  mine.” 

“ Ned  jealous!”  exclaimed  Tom,  in  surprise. 

“ Yes,  jealous;  I never  heard  him  say  a kind  word  of 
any  verses  I ever  wrote  in  my  life;  and  I am  certain  he  has 
most  unkind  feelings  toward  me.  ” 

“ I tell  you  what  it  is,”  said  Tom,  “ getting  up”  a bit; 
“ I told  you  I don't  understand  poetry,  but  I do  understand 
what's  an  infinitely  better  thing,  and  that's  fine,  generous, 
manly  feeling;  and  if  there's  a human  being  in  the  world 
incapable  of  wronging  another  in  his  mind  or  heart,  or 
readier  to  help  his  fellow-man,  it  is  Edward  O'Connor;  so 
say  no  more,  James,  if  you  please.” 

Tom  had  scarcely  uttered  the  last  word,  when  the  key 
Was  turned  in  the  door. 


433 


HANDY  ANDY. 


“ Here's  that  infernal  bailiff  again !"  said  Tom,  whose 
irritability,  increased  by  Reddy's  paltry  egotism  and  in- 
justice, was  at  its  boiling-pitch  once  more.  He  planted 
himself  firmly  in  his  chair,  and  putting  on  his  fiercest 
frown,  was  determined  to  confront  Mister  Goggins  with  an 
aspect  that  should  astonish  him. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mister  Goggins  made  his  appear- 
ance, presenting  to  the  gentlemen  in  the  room  the  hinder 
portion  of  his  person,  which  made  several  indications  of 
courtesy  performed  by  the  other  half  of  his  body,  while  he 
uttered  the  words,  “ Don't  be  astonished,  gentlemen; 
you'll  be  used  to  it  by  and  by."  And  with  these  words  he 
kept  backing  toward  Tom,  making  these  nether  demon- 
strations of  civility,  till  Tom  could  plainly  see  the  seams  in 
the  back  of  Mr.  Goggins'  pantaloons. 

Tom  thought  this  was  some  new  touch  of  the  “ free-and- 
easy  " on  Mister  Goggins'  part,  and,  losing  all  command 
of  himself,  he  jumped  from  his  chair,  and  with  a vigorous 
kick  gave  Mister  Goggins  such  a lively  impression  of  his 
desire  that  he  should  leave  the  room,  that  Mister  Goggins 
went  head  foremost  down  the  stairs,  pitching  his  whole 
weight  upon  Dick  Dawson  and  Edward  O'Connor,  who 
were  ascending  the  dark  stairs,  and  to  whom  all  his  bows 
had  been  addressed.  Overwhelmed  with  astonishment  and 
twelve  stone  of  bailiff,  they  were  thrown  back  into  the  hall, 
and  an  immense  uproar  in  the  passage  ensued. 

Edward  and  Dick  were  near  coming  in  for  some  hard 
usage  from  Goggins,  conceiving  it  might  be  a preconcerted 
attempt  on  the  part  of  his  prisoners  and  their  newly  ar- 
rived friends  to  achieve  a rescue;  and  while  he  was  rolling 
about  on  the  ground,  he  roared  to  his  evil-visaged  janitor 
to  look  to  the  door  first,  and  keep  him  from  being  “ mur- 
thered  " after. 

Fortunately  no  evil  consequences  ensued,  until  matters 
could  be  explained  in  the  hall,  and  Edward  and  Dick  were 
introduced  to  the  upper  room,  from  which  Goggins  had 
been  so  suddenly  ejected. 

There  the  bailiff  demanded  in  a very  angry  tone  the 
cause  of  Tom's  conduct;  and  when  it  was  found  to  be  only 
a mutual  misunderstanding — that  Goggins  wouldn't  take  a 
liberty  with  a gentleman  “in  difficulties " for  the  world, 
and  that  Tom  wouldn't  hurt  a fly,  only  “ under  a mistake  " 
—matters  were  cleared  up  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties. 


llANDY  ANDY. 


439 


and  the  real  business  of  the  meeting  commenced: — that  was 
to  pay  Tom's  debt  out  of  hand;  and  when  the  bailiff  saw 
all  demands,  fees  included,  cleared  off,  the  clouds  from  his 
brow  cleared  off  also,  he  was  the  most  amiable  of  sheriff's 
officers,  and  all  his  sentimentality  returned. 

Edward  did  not  seem  quite  to  sympathize  with  his  amia- 
bility, so  Goggins  returned  to  the  charge,  while  Tom  and 
Dick  were  exchanging  a few  words  with  James  Beddy. 

“ You  see,  sir,"  said  Goggins,  “in  the  first  place,  it  is 
quite  beautiful  to  see  the  mind  in  adversity  bearing  up 
against  the  little  antediluvian  afflictions  that  will  happen 
occasionally,  and  then  how  fine  it  is  to  remark  the  spark 
of  generosity  that  kindles  in  the  noble  heart  and  rushes  to 
the  assistance  of  the  destitute!  I do  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  a 
most  beautiful  sight  to  see  the  gintlemen  in  defficulties 
waitin'  here  for  their  friends  to  come  to  their  relief,  like 
the  last  scene  in  Blue  Beard,  where  Sister  Ann  waves  her 
handkerchief  from  the  tower — the  tyrant  is  slain — and 
virtue  rewarded ! 

“Ah,  sir!"  said  he  to  Edward  O'Connor,  whose  look  of 
disgust  at  the  wretched  den  caught  the  bailiff's  attention, 
“don't  entertain  an  antifassy  from  first  imprissions,  wdiich 
is  often  desaivin'.  I do  pledge  you  my  honor,  sir,  there  is 
no  place  in  the  'varsal  world  where  human  nature  is  visi- 
ble in  more  attractive  colors  than  in  this  humble  retrait." 

Edward  could  not  conceal  a smile  at  the  fellow's  absurd- 
ity, though  his  sense  of  the  ridiculous  could  not  overcome 
the  disgust  with  which  the  place  inspired  him.  He  gave 
an  admonitory  touch  to  the  elbow  of  Dick  Dawson,  who, 
with  his  friend  Tom  Durfy,  followed  Edward  from  the 
room,  the  bailiff  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  relocking  the 
door  on  the  unfortunate  James  Beddy,  who  was  left  “ alone 
in  his  glory,"  to  finish  his  slashing  article  against  the  suc- 
cessful men  of  the  day. 

Nothing  more  than  words  of  recognition  had  passed  be- 
tween Beddy  and  Edward.  In  the  first  place,  Edward's 
appearance  at  the  very  moment  the  other  was  indulging  in 
illiberal  observations  upon  him  rendered  the  ill-tempered 
poetaster  dumb;  and  Edward  attributed  this  distance  of 
manner  to  a feeling  of  shyness  which  Beddy  might  enter- 
tain at  being  seen  in  such  a place,  and  therefore  had  too 
much  good  breeding  to  thrust  his  civility  on  a man  who 
seemed  to  shrink  from  it;  but  when  he  left  the  house  he 


440 


SAHDY  AKDY. 


expressed  his  regret  to  his  companions  at  the  poor  fellow's 
unfortunate  situation. 

It  touched  Tom  Durfy’s  heart  to  hear  these  expressions 
of  compassion  coming  from  the  lips  of  the  man  he  had 
heard  maligned  a few  minutes  before  by  the  very  person 
commiserated,  and  it  raised  his  opinion  higher  of  Edward, 
whose  hand  he  now  shook  with  warm  expressions  of  thank- 
fulness on  his  own  account,  for  the  prompt  service  ren- 
dered to  him.  Edward  made  as  light  of  his  own  kindness 
as  he  could,  and  begged  Tom  to  think  nothing  of  such  a 
trifle. 

“ One  word  I will  say  to  you,  Durfy,  and  Em  sure  you’ll 
pardon  me  for  it.” 

“ Could  you  say  a thing  to  offend  me?”  was  the  answer. 

“ You  are  to  be  married  soon,  I understand?” 

“ To-morrow,”  said  Tom. 

“Well,  my  dear  Durfy,  if  you  owe  anymore  money, 
take  a re«l  friend’s  advice,  and  tell  your  pretty  good-heart- 
ed widow  the  whole  amount  of  your  debts  before  you  marry 
her.” 

“My  dear  O’Connor,”  said  Tom,  “the  money  you’ve 
lent  me  now  is  all  I owe  in  the  world;  ’twas  a tailor’s  bill, 
and  I quite  forgot  it.  You  know,  no  one  ever  thinks  of  a 
tailor’s  bill.  Debts,  indeed!”  added  Tom,  with  surprise; 
“ my  dear  fellow,  I never  could  be  much  in  debt,  for  the 
devil  a one  wrould  trust  me.” 

“An  excellent  reason  for  your  unincumbered  state,” 
said  Edward,  “and  I hope  you  pardon  me.” 

“Pardon!”  exclaimed  Tom,  “I  esteem  you  for  your 
kind  and  manly  frankness.” 

In  the  course  of  their  progress  toward  Dick’s  lodgings, 
Edward  reverted  to  James  Reddy’s  wretched  condition,  and 
found  it  was  but  some  petty  debt  for  which  he  was  arrest- 
ed. He  lamented,  in  common  with  Dick  and  Tom,  the 
infatuation  which  made  him  desert  a duty  he  could  profita- 
bly perform  by  assisting  his  father  in  his  farming  concerns, 
to  pursue  a literary  path,  which  could  never  be  any  other  to 
him  than  one  of  thorns. 

As  Edward  had  engaged  to  meet  Gusty  in  an  hour,  he 
parted  from  his  companions  and  pursued  his  course  alone. 
But,  instead  of  proceeding  immediately  homeward,  he  re- 
traced his  steps  to  the  den  of  the  bailiff  and  gave  a quiet 
tap  at  the  door.  Mister  Goggins  himself  answered  to  the 


HAttDY  AttDY. 


441 


knock,  and  began  a loud  and  florid  welcome  to  Edward, 
who  stopped  his  career  of  eloquence  by  laying  a finger  on 
his  lip  in  token  of  silence.  A few  words  sufficed  to  explain 
the  motive  of  his  visit.  He  wished  to  ascertain  the  sum 
for  which  the  gentleman  upstairs  was  detained.  The 
bailiff  informed  him;  and  the  money  necessary  to  procure 
the  captive’s  liberty  was  placed  in  his  hand. 

The  bailiff  cast  one  of  his  melodramatic  glances  at  Ed- 
ward, and  said,  “ Didn’t  I tell  you,  sir,  this  was  the  place 
for  calling  out  the  noblest  feelings  of  human  nature?" 

“ Can  you  oblige  me  with  writing  materials?"  said  Ed- 
ward. 

“ I can,  sir,"  said  Goggins,  proudly;  “ and  with  other 
materials ,*  too,  if  you  like — and  ’pon  my  honor.  Til  be 
proud  to  drink  your  health,  for  you’re  a raal  gintleman. " 

Edward,  in  the  civilest  manner,  declined  the  offer,  and 
wrote,  or,  rather,  tried  to  write,  the  following  note,  with  a 
pen  like  a skewer,  ink  something  thicker  than  mud,  and  on 
whity  brown  paper: 

“ Dear  Sir, — I hope  you  will  pardon  the  liberty  I have 
taken  in  your  temporary  want  of  money.  You  can  repay 
me  at  your  convenience.  Yours,  E.  O’C." 

Edward  left  the  den,  and  so  did  James  Reddy  soon  after 
— a better  man.  Though  weak,  his  heart  was  not  shut  to 
the  humanities  of  life — and  Edward’s  kindness,  in  opening 
his  eyes  to  the  wrong  he  had  done  one  man,  induced  in  his 
heart  a kinder  feeling  toward  all.  He  tore  up  his  slashing 
article  against  successful  men.  Would  that  every  disap- 
pointed man  would  do  the  same. 

The  bailiff  was  right;  even  so  low  a den  as  his  becomes 
ennobled  by  the  presence  of  active  benevolence  and  preju- 
dice reclaimed. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

Edward,  on  returning  to  his  hotel,  found  Gusty  there 
before  him,  in  great  delight  at  having  seen  a “ splendid  *' 
horse,  as  he  said,  which  had  been  brought  for  Edward’s  in- 

* The  name  given  in  Ireland  to  the  necessary  materials  for  the 
compounding  of  whisky-punch. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


442 

spection,  he  having  written  a note  on  his  arrival  In  town  to 
a dealer,  stating  his  want  of  a first-rate  hunter. 

“He's  in  the  stable  now/' said  Gusty;  “for  I desired 
the  man  to  wait,  knowing  you  would  be  here  soon." 

“I  cannot  see  him  now.  Gusty,"  said  Edward;  “will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  tell  the  groom  I can  look  at  the 
horse  in  his  own  stables  when  I wish  to  purchase?" 

Gusty  departed  with  the  message,  somewhat  in  wonder, 
for  Edward  loved  a fine  horse.  But  the  truth  was,  Ed- 
ward's disposable  money,  which  he  had  intended  for  the 
purchase  of  a hunter,  had  a serious  inroad  made  upon  it  by 
the  debts  he  had  discharged  for  other  men,  and  he  was 
forced  to  forego  the  pleasure  he  had  proposed  to  himself  in 
the  next  hunting  season;  and  he  did  not  like  to  consume 
any  one's  time  or  raise  false  expectations,  by  affecting  to 
look  at  disposable  property  with  the  eye  of  a purchaser  when 
he  knew  it  was  beyond  his  reach;  and  the  flimsy  common- 
places of  “I'll  think  of  it,"  or  “If  I don't  see  something 
better,"  or  any  other  of  the  twenty  hackneyed  excuses 
which  idle  people  make,  after  consuming  busy  men's  time, 
Edward  held  to  be  unworthy.  He  could  ride  a hack,  and 
deny  himself  hunting  for  a whole  season,  but  he  would  not 
unnecessarily  consume  the  useful  time  of  any  man  for  ten 
minutes. 

This  may  be  sneered  at  by  the  idle  and  thoughtless; 
nevertheless,  it  is  a part  of  the  minor  morality  which  is 
ever  present  m the  conduct  of  a true  gentleman. 

Edward  had  promised  to  join  Dick's  dinner-party  on  an 
impromptu  invitation,  and  the  clock  striking  the  ap- 
pointed hour  warned  Edward  it  was  time  to  be  off;  so, 
jumping  up  on  a jauntmg-car,  he  rattled  off  to  Dick's 
lodgings,  where  a jolly  party  was  assembled,  ripe  for  fun. 

Among  the  guests  was  a rather  remarkable  man,  a 
Colonel  Crammer,  who  had  seen  a monstrous  deal  of  serv- 
ice— one  of  Tom  Durfy's  friends  whom  he  had  asked  leave 
to  bring  with  him  to  dinner.  Of  course,  Dick’s  card  and  a 
note  of  invitation  for  the  gallant  colonel  were  immediately 
dispatched;  and  he  had  but  just  arrived  before  Edward, 
who  found  a bustling  sensation  in  the  room  as  the  colonel 
was  presented  to  those  already  assembled,  and  Tom  Durfy 
giving  whispers,  aside,  to  each  person  touching  his  friend; 
such  as — “Very  remarkable  man" — “Seen  great  service" 


tiAKDY  ANDY, 


443 


— tc  A little  odd  or  so  " — “ A fund  of  most  extraordinary 

anecdote/'  etc.,  etc. 

Now  this  Colonel  Crammer  was  no  other  than  Tom 
Loftus,  whose  acquaintance  Dick  wished  to  make,  and 
who  had  been  invited  to  the  dinner  after  a preliminary 
visit;  but  Tom  sent  an  excuse  in  his  own  name,  and 
preferred  being  present  under  a fictitious  one — this  being 
one  of  the  odd  ways  in  which  his  humor  broke  out,  de- 
sirous of  giving  people  a “ touch  of  his  quality " before 
they  knew  him.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  assuming  vari- 
ous characters;  a methodist  missionary — the  patentee  of 
some  unheard-of  invention — the  director  of  some  new 
joint  stock-company — in  short,  anything  which  would 
give  him  an  opportunity  of  telling  tremendous  bouncers 
was  equally  good  for  Tom.  His  reason  for  assuming  a 
military  guise  on  this  occasion  was  to  bother  Moriarty, 
whom  he  knew  he  should  meet,  and  held  a special  reason 
for  tormenting;  and  he  knew  he  could  achieve  this  by 
throwing  all  the  stories  Moriarty  was  fond  of  telling  about 
his  own  service  into  the  shade,  by  extravagant  inventions 
of  “ hair-breadth  'scapes"  and  feats  by  “ flood  and  field." 
Indeed,  the  dinner  would  not  be  worth  mentioning  but  for 
the  extraordinary  capers  Tom  cut  on  the  occasion,  and  the 
unheard-of  lies  he  squandered. 

Dinner  was  announced  by  Andy,  and  with  good  appetite 
soup  and  fish  were  soon  dispatched;  sherry  followed  as  a 
matter  of  necessity.  The  second  course  appeared,  and  was 
not  long  under  discussion  when  Dick  called  for  the 
“ champagne. " 

Andy  began  to  drag  the  tub  toward  the  table,  and  Dick, 
impatient  of  delay,  again  called  “champagne." 

“ I'm  bringin'  it  to  you,  sir,"  said  Andy,  tugging  at  the 
tub. 

16  Hand  it  round  the  table,"  said  Dick. 

Andy  tried  to  lift  the  tub,  “ to  hand  it  round  the  table;" 
but,  finding  he  could  not  manage  it,  he  whispered  to  Dick, 
“I  can't  get  it  up,  sir." 

Dick,  fancying  that  Andy  meant  he  had  got  a flask  not 
in  a sufficient  state  of  effervescence  to  expel  its  own  cork, 
whispered  in  return,  “ Draw  it,  then." 

"I  was  dhrawin'  it  to  you,  sir,  when  you  stopped  me." 

**  Well,  make  haste  with  it,"  said  Dick. 


444 


“ Mister  Dawson,  Fll  trouble  you  for  a small  slice  of 
the  turkey/*  said  the  colonel. 

“ With  pleasure,  colonel;  but  first  do  me  the  honor  to 
take  champagne.  Andy — champagne!** 

“Here  it  is,  sir!**  said  Andy,  who  had  drawn  the  tub 
close  to  Dick*s  chair. 

“ Where*s  the  wine,  sir?**  said  Dick,  looking  first  at  the 
tub  and  then  at  Andy. 

“ There,  sir,**  said  Andy,  pointing  down  to  the  ice.  “ I 
put  the  wine  into  it,  as  you  towld  me.** 

Dick  looked  again  at  the  tub,  and  said,  “There  is  not  a 
single  bottle  there — what  do  you  mean,  you  stupid  rascal?** 

“ To  be  sure,  there*s  no  bottle  there,  sir.  The  bottles  is 
all  on  the  sideboard,  but  every  dhrop  o*  the  wine  is  in  the 
ice,  as  you  towld  me,  sir;  if  you  put  your  hand  down  into 
it,  you*ll  feel  it,  sir.  ** 

The  conversation  between  master  and  man  growing 
louder  as  it  proceeded,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole 
company,  and  those  near  the  head  of  the  table  became  ac- 
quainted as  soon  as  Dick  with  the  mistake  Andy  had  made, 
and  could  not  resist  laughter;  and  as  the  cause  of  their 
merriment  was  told  from  man  to  man,  and  passed  round 
the  board,  a roar  of  laughter  uprose,  not  a little  increased 
by  Dick*s  look  of  vexation,  which  at  length  was  forced  to 

E'eld  to  the  infectious  merriment  around  him,  and  he 
ughed  with  the  rest,  and  making  a joke  of  the  disappoint- 
ment, which  is  the  very  best  way  of  passing  one  off,  he 
said  that  he  had  the  honor  of  originating  at  his  table  a 
magnificent  scale  of  hospitality;  for  though  he  had  heard 
of  company  being  entertained  with  a whole  hogshead  of 
claret,  he  was  not  aware  of  champagne  being  ever  served 
in  a tub  before.  The  company  were  too  determined  to  be 
merry  to  have  their  pleasantry  put  out  of  tune  by  so 
trifling  a mishap,  and  if  was  generally  voted  that  the  joke 
was  worth  twice  as  much  as  the  wine.  Nevertheless,  Dick 
could  not  help  casting  a reproachful  look  now  and  then  at 
Andy,  who  had  to  run  the  gantlet  of  many  a joke  cut  at 
his  expense,  while  he  waited  upon  the  wags  at  dinner,  and 
caught  a lowly  muttered  anathema  whenever  he  passed 
near  Dick*s  chair.  In  short,  master  and  man  were  both 
glad  when  the  cloth  was  drawn,  and  the  party  could  be  left 
to  themselves. 

Then,  as  a matter  of  course,  Dick  called  on  the  gentle- 


HANDY  ANDY. 


445 


/ 

men  to  charge  their  glasses  and  fill  high  to  a toast  he  had 
to  propose — they  would  anticipate  to  whom  he  referred — 
a gentleman  who  was  going  to  change  his  state  of  freedom 
for  one  of  a happier  bondage,  etc.,  etc.  Dick  dashed  off 
his  speech  with  several  mirth-moving  allusions  to  the 
change  that  was  coming  over  his  friend  Tom,  and  having 
festooned  his  composition  with  the  proper  quantity  of 
“ rosy  wreaths,”  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  naturally  belonging  to  such 
speeches,  he  wound  up  with  some  hearty  words — free  from 
hadinage , and  meaning  all  they  conveyed,  and  finished  with 
the  rhyming  benediction  of  a “ long  life  and  a good  wife  ” 
to  him. 

Tom  having  returned  thanks  in  the  same  laughing  style 
that  Dick  proposed  his  health,  and  bade  farewell  to  the 
lighter  follies  of  bachelorship  for  the  more  serious  ones  of 
wedlock,  the  road  was  now  open  to  any  one  who  was 
vocally  inclined.  Dick  asked  one  or  two,  who  said  they 
were  not  within  a bottle  of  their  singing  point  yet,  but 
Tom  Durfy  was  sure  his  friend  the  colonel  would  favor  them. 

“ With  pleasure,”  said  the  colonel;  “ and  Fll  sing  some- 
thing appropriate  to  the  blissful  situation  of  philandering 
in  which  you  have  been  indulging  of  late,  my  friend.  I 
wish  I could  give  you  any  idea  of  the  song  as  I heard  it 
warbled  by  the  voice  of  an  Indian  princess,  who  was  at- 
tached to  me  once,  and  for  whom  I ran  enormous  risks — 
but  no  matter — that's  past  and  gone,  but  the  soft  tones  of 
Zulima's  voice  will  ever  haunt  my  heart!  The  song  is  a 
favorite  where  I heard  it — on  the  borders  of  Cashmere,  and 
is  supposed  to  be  sung  by  a fond  woman  in  the  valley  of 
the  nightingales — 'tis  so  in  the  original,  but  as  we  have  no 
nightingales  in  Ireland,  I have  substituted  the  dove  in  the 
little  translation  I have  made,  which,  if  you  will  allow  me, 
I'll  attempt.” 

Loud  cries  of  t€  Hear,  hear!”  and  tapping  of  applauding 
hands  on  the  table  followed,  while  the  colonel  gave  a few 
preliminary  hems;  and  after  some  little  pilot  tones  from 
his  throat,  to  show  the  way,  his  voice  ascended  in  all  the 
glory  of  song: 

THE  DOVE- SONG. 

i. 

44  Coo!  Coo!  Coo!  Coo! 

Thus  did  I hear  the  turtle-dove. 

Qoo!  Coo!  Coo! 


4461 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Murmuring  forth  her  love; 

And  as  she  flew  from  tree  to  tree, 
How  melting  seemed  the  notes  to  me— 
Coo!  Coo!  Coo! 

So  like  the  voice  of  lovers, 

’Twas  passing  sweet  to  hear 
The  birds  within  the  covers, 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year. 


n. 

* Coo  ! ■ Coo  ! Coo  ! Coo  ! 

Thus  the  song’s  returned  again— 
Coo!  Coo!  Coo! 

Through  the  shady  glen; 

But  there  I wandered  lone  and  sad, 
While  every  bird  around  was  glad. 

Coo ! Coo!  Coo! 

Thus  so  fondly  murmured  they, 

Coo  ! Coo  ! Coo ! 

While  my  love  was  away. 

And  yet  the  song  to  lovers, 

Though  sad,  is  sweet  to  hear* 
From  birds  within  the  covers, 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year.* 


The  colonel's  song,  given  with  Tom  Loftus'  good  voice, 
was  received  with  great  applause,  and  the  fellows  all  voted 
it  catching,  and  began  “ cooing  " round  the  table  like  a 
parcel  of  pigeons. 

“A  translation  from  an  eastern  poet,  you  say?" 

“ Yes,"  said  Tom. 

“ 'Tis  not  very  Eastern  in  its  character,"  said  Moriarty. 

cc  I mean  a free  translation,  of  course,"  added  the  mock 
colonel. 

“ Would  you  favor  us  with  the  song  again,  in  the  origi- 
nal?" added  Moriarty. 

Tom  Loftus  did  not  know  one  syllable  of  any  other  lan- 
guage than  his  own,  and  it  would  not  have  been  convenient 
to  talk  gibberisn  to  Moriarty,  who  had  a smattering  of 
some  of  the  Eastern  tongues;  so  he  declined  giving  his 
Cashmerian  song  in  its  native  purity,  because,  as  he  said, 
he  never  could  manage  to  speak  their  dialect,  though  lie 
understood  it  reasonably  well. 

“ But  there's  a gentleman,  I am  sure,  will  sing  some 
other  song— and  a better  one,  I have  no  doubt,"  said  Tom, 
with  a very  humble  prostration  of  his  head  on  the  table# 


HANDY  ANDY.  44? 

and  anxious  by  a fresh  song  to  get  out  of  the  dilemma  in 
which  Moriarty's  question  was  near  placing  him. 

* c Not  a better,  colonel,"  said  the  gentleman  who  was 
addressed;  “but  I can  not  refuse  your  call,  and  I will  do 
my  best.  Hand  me  the  port  wine,  pray;  I always  take  a 
glass  of  port  before  I sing — I think  'tis  good  for  the  throat 
— what  do  you  say,  colonel?" 

“ When  I want  to  sing  particularly  well,"  said  Tom,  “ I 
drink  canary 

The  gentleman  smiled  at  the  whimsical  answer,  tossed 
off  his  glass  of  port,  and  began: 

“LADY  MINE. 

i. 

“Lady  mine!  lady  mine! 

1 Take  the  rosy  wreath  I twine, 

All  its  sweets  are  less  than  thine, 

Lady,  lady  mine! 

The  blush  that  on  thy  cheek  is  found 
Bloometh  fresh  the  whole  year  round; 

Thy  sweet  breath  as  sweet  gives  sound , 

Lady,  lady  mine  l 

n. 

“Lady  mine!  lady  mine! 

How  I love  the  graceful  vine, 

Whose  tendrils  mock  thy  ringlets’  twine. 

Lady,  lady  mine! 

How  I love  that  generous  tree, 

Whose  ripe  clusters  promise  me 
Bumpers  bright —to  pledge  to  thee , 

Lady,  lady  mine! 

hi. 

(“Lady  mine!  lady  mine! 

Like  the  stars  that  nightly  shine. 

Thy  sweet  eyes  shed  light  divine. 

Lady,  lady  mine! 

And  as  sages  wise,  of  old, 

From  the  stars  could  fate  unfold, 

Thy  bright  eyes  my  fortune  told. 

Lady,  lady  mine! 

The  song  was  just  in  the  style  to  catch  gentlemen  after 
dinner — the  second  verse  particularly,  and  many  a glass 
Was  emptied  of  a “ bumper  bright, " and  pledged  to  the 


448 


HANDY  ANDY. 


particular  “ thee”  which  each  individual  had  selected  for 
his  devotion.  Edward,  at  that  moment,  certainly  thought 
of  Fanny  Dawson. 

Let  teetotalers  say  what  they  please,  there  is  a genial 
influence  inspired  by  wine  and  song — not  in  excess,  but  in 
that  wholesome  degree  which  stirs  the  blood  and  warms 
the  fancy;  and  as  one  raises  the  glass  to  the  lip,  over  which 
some  sweet  name  is  just  breathed  from  the  depth  of  the 
heart,  what  libation  so  fit  to  pour  to  absent  friends  as  wine? 
What  is  wine?  It  is  the  grape  present  in  another  form; 
its  essence  is  there,  though  the  fruit  which  produced  it 
grew  thousands  of  miles  away,  and  perished  years  ago.  So 
the  object  of  many  a tender  thought  may  be  spiritually 
present,  in  defiance  of  space — and  fond  recollections  cher- 
ished in  defiance  of  time. 

As  the  party  became  more  convivial,  the  mirth  began  to 
assume  a broader  form.  Tom  Durfy  drew  out  Moriarty 
on  the  subject  of  his  services,  that  the  mock  colonel 
might  throw  every  new  achievement  into  the  shade,  and 
this  he  did  in  the  most  barefaced  manner,  but  mixing  so 
much  of  probability  with  his  audacious  fiction,  that  those 
who  were  not  up  to  the  joke  only  supposed  him  to  be  a 
very  great  romancer ; while  those  friends  who  were  in 
Loftus*  confidence  exhibited  a most  capacious  stomach  for 
the  marvelous,  and  backed  up  his  lies  with  a ready  cre- 
dence. If  Moriarty  told  some  fearful  incident  of  a tiger 
hunt,  the  colonel  capped  it  with  something  more  wonder- 
ful, of  slaughtering  lions  in  a wholesale  way,  like  rabbits. 
When  Moriarty  expatiated  on  the  intensity  of  tropical  heat, 
the  colonel  would  upset  him  with  something  more  ap- 
palling. 

“Now,  sir,"  said  Loft  us,  “let  me  ask  you  what  is  the 
greatest  amount  of  heat  you  have  ever  experienced — I say 
experienced , not  heard  of — for  that  goes  for  nothing.  I 
always  speak  from  experience.  " 

“Well,  sir,"  said  Moriarty,  “I  have  known  it  to  be  so 
hot  in  India,  that  I have  had  a hole  dug  in  the  ground 
under  my  tent,  and  sat  in  it,  and  put  a table  standing  over 
the  hole,  to  try  and  guard  me  from  the  intolerable  fervor 
of  the  eastern  sun,  and  even  then  I was  hot.  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  colonel?"  asked  Moriarty,  triumphantly. 

“Have  you  ever  been  in  the  West  Indies?"  inquired 
koftus. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


449 


<c  Never/*  said  Moriarty,  w 10,  once  entrapped  into  this 
admission,  was  directly  at  ti  e colonel's  mercy — and  the 
colonel  launched  out  fearlessly . 

“ Then,  my  good  sir,  you  know  nothing  of  heat.  I have 
seen  in  the  West  Indies  an  unbrella  burned  over  a man's 
head." 

“Wonderful!"  cried  Loftus'  backers. 

“ 'Tis  strange,  sir,"  said  Moriarty,  “ that  we  have  never 
seen  that  mentioned  by  any  writer." 

“ Easily  accounted  for,  sir,"  said  Loftus.  “'Tis  so  com- 
mon a circumstance,  that  it  ceases  to  be  worthy  of  observa- 
tion. An  author  writing  of  this  country  might  as  well 
remark  that  the  apple-women  are  to  be  seen  sitting  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets.  That's  nothing,  sir;  but  there  are 
two  things  of  which  I have  personal  knowledge,  rather  re- 
markable. One  day  of  intense  heat  (even  for  that  climate) 
I was  on  a visit  at  the  plantation  of  a friend  of  mine,  and 
it  was  so  out-o'-the  way  scorching,  that  our  lips  were  like 
cinders,  and  we  were  obliged  to  have  black  slaves  pouring 
sangaree  down  our  throats  by  gallons — I don't  hesitate  to 
say  gallons — and  we  thought  we  could  not  have  survived 
through  the  day;  but  what  could  ive  think  of  our  suffer- 
ings, when  we  heard  that  several  negroes,  who  had  gone  to 
sleep  under  the  shade  of  some  cocoa-nut  trees,  had  been 
scalded  to  death?" 

“ Scalded?"  said  his  friends;  “burned,  you  mean." 

“No,  scalded;  and  hoiv  do  you  think?  The  intensity  of 
the  heat  had  cracked  the  cocoa-nuts;  and  the  boiling  milk 
inside  dropped  down  and  produced  the  fatal  result.  The 
same  day  a remarkable  accident  occurred  at  the  battery; 
the  French  were  hovering  round  the  island  at  the  time,  and 
the  governor,  being  a timid  man,  ordered  the  guns  to  be 
always  kept  loaded." 

“I  never  heard  of  such  a thing  in  a battery  in  my  life, 
sir,"  said  Moriarty. 

“Nor  I either,"  said  Loftus,  “till  then!" 

“ What  was  the  governor's  name,  sir?"  inquired  Moriarty, 
pursuing  his  train  of  doubt. 

“ You  must  excuse  me  captain,  frcm  naming  him,"  said 
Loftus,  with  readiness,  “after  incautiously  saying  he  waa 
timid/* 

“Hear,  hear!"  said  all  the  friends. 

“ But  to  pursue  my  story,  sir: — the  guns  were  loaded,. 


450 


HANDY  ANDY. 


and  with  the  intensity  of  the  heat  went  off,,  one  after  an* 
other,  and  quite  riddled  one  of  his  Majesty’s  frigates  that 
was  lying  in  the  harbor. ” 

“ That’s  one  of  the  most  difficult  riddles  to  comprehend 
I ever  heard,”  said  Moriarty. 

“ The  frigate  answered  the  riddle  with  her  guns,  sir,  I 
promise  you.” 

“ What!”  exclaimed  Moriarty,  “fire  on  the  fort  of  her 
own  king?” 

“ There  is  an  honest  principle  exists  among  sailors,  sir, 
to  return  fire  under  all  circumstances,  wherever  it  comes 
from,  friend  or  foe.  Fire,  of  which  they  know  the  value 
eo  well,  they  won’t  take  from  anybody.  ” 

“ And  what  was  the  consequence?”  said  Moriarty. 

“ Sir,  it  was  the  most  harmless  broadside  ever  delivered 
from  the  ports  of  a British  frigate;  not  a single  house  or 
human  being  was  injured — the  day  wras  so  hot  that  every 
sentinel  had  sunk  on  the  ground  in  utter  exhaustion — the 
whole  population  were  asleep;  the  only  loss  of  life  which 
occurred  was  that  of  a blue  macaw,  which  belonged  to  the 
commandant’s  daughter.” 

“Where  was  the  macaw,  may  I beg  to  know?”  said 
Moriarty,  cross-questioning  the  colonel  in  the  spirit  of  a 
counsel  for  the  defense  on  a capital  indictment. 

“In  the  drawing-room  window,  sir.” 

“#Then  surely  the  ball  must  have  done  some  damage  in 
the  house?” 

“Not  the  least,  sir,”  said  Loftus,  sipping  his  wine. 

“ Surely,  colonel!”  returned  Moriarty,  warming,  “the 
ball  could  not  have  killed  the  macaw  without  injuring  the 
house?” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  said  Tom,  “ I did  not  say  the  ball  killed 
the  macaw,  I said  the  macaw  v/as  killed;  but  that  was  in 
consequence  of  a splinter  from  an  epaulement  of  the  south- 
east angle  of  the  fort  which  the  shot  struck  and  glanced 
off  harmlessly — except  for  the  casualty  of  the  macaw.” 

Moriarty  returned  a kind  of  grunt,  which  implied  that, 
though  he  could  not  further  question , he  did  not  believe . 
Under  such  circumstances,  taking  snuff  is  a great  relief 
to  a man;  and,  as  it  happened,  Moriarty,  in  taking  snuff, 
could  gratify  his  nose  and  his  vanity  at  the  same  time,  for 
he  sported  a silver-gilt  snuff-box  which  was  presented  to 


HANDY  ANDY.  451 

him  in  some  extraordinary  way,  and  bore  a grand  inscrip- 
tion. 

On  this  “ piece  of  plate  ” being  produced,  of  course  it 
Went  round  the  table,  and  Moriarty  could  scarcely  conceal 
the  satisfaction  he  felt  as  each  person  read  the  engraven 
testimonial  of  his  worth.  When  it  had  gone  the  circuit  of 
the  board,  Tom  Loftus  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
pulled  out  the  butt-end  of  a rifle,  which  is  always  furnished 
with  a small  box,  cut  out  of  the  solid  part  of  the  wood,  and 
covered  with  a plate  of  brass  acting  on  a hinge.  This  box, 
intended  to  carry  small  implements  for  the  use  of  the  rifle- 
man, to  keep  his  piece  in  order,  was  filled  with  snuff,  and 
Tom  said,  as  he  laid  it  down  on  the  table,  “ This  is  my 
snuff-box,  gentlemen;  not  as  handsome  as  my  gallant 
friend’s  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  but  extremely  in- 
teresting to  me.  It  was  previous  to  one  of  our  dashing 
affairs  in  Spain  that  our  riflemen  were  thrown  out  in  front 
and  on  the  flanks.  The  rifles  were  supported  by  the  light 
companies  of  the  regiments  in  advance,  and  it  was  in  the 
latter  duty  I was  engaged.  We  had  to  feel  our  way  through 
a wood,  and  had  cleared  it  of  the  enemy,  when  as  we  de- 
bouched from  the  wood  on  the  opposite  side,  we  were 
charged  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  Polish  lancers  and 
cuirassiers.  Retreat  was  impossible  — resistance  almost 
hopeless.  ‘ My  lads/  said  I,  ‘ we  must  do  something  novel 
here,  or  we  are  lost — startle  them  by  fresh  practice — the 
bayonet  will  no  longer  avail  you — club  your  muskets,  and 
hit  the  horses  over  the  noses,  and  they’ll  smell  danger.’ 
They  took  my  advice;  of  course  we  first  delivered  a wither- 
ing volley,  and  then  to  it  we  went  in  flail-fashion,  thrashing 
away  with  the  butt-ends  of  our  muskets;  and  sure  enough 
the  French  were  astonished  and  driven  back  in  amazement. 
So  tremendous,  sir,  was  the  hitting  on  our  side,  that  in 
many  instances  the  butt-ends  of  the  muskets  snapped  off 
like  tobacco-pipes,  and  the  field  was  quite  strewn  with  them 
after  the  affair;  I picked  one  of  them  up  as  a little  memento 
of  the  day,  and  have  used  it  ever  since  as  a snuff-box.” 

Every  one  was  amused  by  the  outrageous  romancing  of 
the  colonel  but  Moriarty,  who  looked  rather  disgusted,  be- 
cause he  could  not  edge  in  a word  of  his  own  at  all;  he  gave 
up  the  thing  now  in  despair,  for  the  colonel  had  it  all  his 
own  way,  like  the  bull  in  a china-shop;  the  more  startling 
the  bouncers  he  told,  the  more  successful  were  his  anec- 


452 


HANDY  ANDY. 


dotes,  and  he  kept  pouring  them  out  with  the  most  astound- 
ing rapidity;  and  though  all  voted  him  the  greatest  liar 
they  ever  met,  none  suspected  he  was  not  a military  man. 

Dick  wanted  Edward  O'Connor,  who  sat  beside  him,  to 
sing;  but  Edward  whispered  “For  Heaven's  sake  don't 
stop  the  flow  of  the  lava  from  that  mighty  eruption  of  lies! 
he's  a perfect  Vesuvius  of  mendacity.  You'll  never  meet 
his  like  again,  so  make  the  most  of  him  while  you  have 
him.  Pray,  sir,"  said  Edward  to  the  colonel,  “have  you 
ever  been  in  any  of  the  cold  climates?  I am  induced  to  ask 
you,  from  the  very  wonderful  anecdotes  you  have  told  of 
the  hot  ones." 

“ Bless  you,  sir,  I know  every  corner  about  the  north 
pole." 

“In  which  of  the  expeditions,  may  I ask,  were  you  en- 
gaged?" inquired  Moriarty. 

“ In  none  of  them,  sir.  We  knocked  up  a little  amateur 
'party,  I and  a few  curious  friends,  and  certainly  we  wit- 
nessed wonders.  You  talk  here  of  a sharp  wind;  but  the 
wind  is  so  sharp  there  that  it  cut  off  our  beard  and  whisk- 
ers. Boreas  is  a great  barber,  sir,  with  his  north  pole  for  a 
sign.  Then  as  for  frost!  I could  tell  you  such  incredible 
things  of  its  intensity;  our  butter,  for  instance,  was  as  hard 
as  a rock;  we  were  obliged  to  knock  it  off  with  a chisel 
and  hammer,  like  a mason  at  a piece  of  granite,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  be  careful  of  your  eyes  at  breakfast,  the  splin- 
ters used  to  fly  about  so;  indeed,  one  of  the  party  did  lose 
the  use  of  his  eye  from  a butter-splinter.  But  the  oddest 
thing  of  all  was  to  watch  two  men  talking  to  each  other: 
you  could  observe  the  words,  as  they  came  out  of  their 
mouths,  suddenly  frozen  and  dropping  down  in  little  pel- 
lets of  ice  at  their  feet,  so  that,  after  a long  conversation, 
you  might  see  a man  standing  up  to  his  knees  in  his  own 
eloquence." 

They  all  roared  with  laughter  at  this  last  touch  of  the 
marvelous,  but  Loftus  preserved  his  gravity. 

“ I don't  wonder,  gentlemen,  at  your  not  receiving  that 
as  truth — I told  you  it  was  incredible — in  short,  that  is  the 
reason  I have  resisted  all  temptations  to  publish.  Murray, 
Longmans,  Colburn,  Bentley,  all  the  publishers  have 
offered  me  unlimited  terms,  but  I have  always  refused — 
not  that  I am  a rich  man,  which  makes  the  temptation  of 
the  thousands  I might  realize  the  harder  to  withstand;  'fcis 


HASTDY  ahdy. 


453 

aot  that  the  gold  is  not  precious  to  me,  but  there  is  some- 
thing dearer  to  me  than  gold — it  is  my  character  for  verac- 
ity!— and  therefore,  as  I am  convinced  the  public  would 
not  believe  the  wonders  I have  witnessed,  I confine  the 
recital  of  my  adventures  to  the  social  circle.  But  what 
profession  affords  such  scope  for  varied  incident  as  that  of 
the  soldier?  Change  of  clime,  danger,  vicissitude,  love, 
war,  privation  one  day,  profusion  the  next,  darkling  dan- 
gers, and  sparkling  joys!  Zounds!  there's  nothing  like  the 
life  of  a soldier!  and,  by  the  powers!  I'll  give  you  a song 
in  its  praise." 

The  proposition  was  received  with  cheers,  and  Tom  rat- 
tied  away  these  ringing  rhymes — 

THE  BOWLD  SOJER  BOY. 

i. 

“ Oh  there's  not  a trade  that’s  going 
Worth  showing. 

Or  knowing, 

Like  that  from  glory  growing. 

For  a bowld  sojer  boy; 

Where  right  or  left  we  go, 

Sure  you  know, 

Friend  or  foe 

Will  have  the  hand  or  toe 

From  a bowld  sojer  boy! 

There’s  not  a town  we  march  thro', 

But  the  ladies,  looking  arch  thro’ 

The  window-panes,  will  search  thro* 

The  ranks  to  find  their  joy; 

While  up  the  street. 

Each  girl  you  meet, 

With  look  so  sly, 

Will  cry 
* My  eye ! 

Oh,  isn’t  he  a darling,  the  bowld  sojer  boyt* 

n. 

• 

u But  when  we  get  the  route. 

How  they  pout 
And  they  shout 
While  to  the  right-about 

Goes  the  bowld  sojer  boy. 

Oh,  ’tis  then  that  ladies  fair 
In  despair 
Tear  their  hair, 

But  ‘ the  divil-a-one  I care,' 

Says  the  bowld  sojer  boy. 


454 


HANDY  ANDY. 


For  the  world  is  all  before  us, 

Where  the  landladies  adore  us. 

And  ne’er  ref  use  to  score  us. 

But  chalk  us  up  with  joy; 

We  taste  her  tap. 

We  tear  her  cap — 

‘ Oh,  that’s  the  chap 
For  me!’ 

Says  she; 

‘Oh,  isn’t  he  a darling,  the  bowld  sojer  boy// 
m. 

44  4 Then  come  along  with  me, 

Gramacliree, 

And  you’ll  see 

How  happy  you  will  be 

With  your  bowld  sojer  boy; 

Faith  I if  you’re  up  to  fun, 

W ith  me  run ; 

’Twill  be  done 

In  the  snapping  of  a gun, 

Says  the  bowld  sojer  boy; 

4 And  ’tis  then  that,  without  scandaL 
Myself  will  proudly  dandle 
The  little  farthing  candle 

Of  our  mutual  flame,  my  joy! 

May  his  light  shine 
As  bright  as  mine, 

Till  in  the  line 
He’ll  blaze, 

And  raise 

The  glory  of  his  corps,  like  a bowld  so  jer  boyl*  n 

Andy  entered  the  room  while  the  song  was  in  progress, 
and  handed  a letter  to  Dick,  which,  after  the  song  was  over, 
and  he  had  asked  pardon  of  his  guests,  he  opened. 

“By  Jove!  you  sing  right  well,  colonel,”  said  one  of  the 
party. 

“I  think  the  gallant  coloneFs  songs  nothing  in  compari- 
son with  his  wonderful  stories,”  said  Moriarty. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Dick,  “ wonderful  as  the  coloneFs 
recitals  have  been,  this  letter  conveys  a piece  of  informa- 
tion more  surprising  than  anything  we  have  heard  this  day. 
That  stupid  fellow  who  spoiled  our  champagne  has  come 
in  for  the  inheritance  of  a large  property.” 

“ What! — Handy  Andy?”  exclaimed  those  who  knew  his 
name. 

“ Handy  Andy,”  said  Dick,  “ is  now  a man  of  fortune!" 


HANDY  ANDY# 


455 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

It  was  a note  from  Squire  Egan  which  conveyed  the 
news  to  Dick  that  caused  so  much  surprise;  the  details  of 
the  case  were  not  even  hinted  at;  the  hare  fact  alone  was 
mentioned,  with  a caution  to  preserve  it  still  a secret  from 
Andy,  and  appointing  an  hour  for  dinner  at  “ Morrison's  ” 
next  day,  at  which  hotel  the  Squire  expected  to  arrive  from 
the  country,  with  his  lady  and  Fanny  Dawson,  en  route  for 
London.  Till  dinner-time,  then,  the  day  following,  Dick 
was  obliged  to  lay  by  his  impatience  as  to  the  “ why  and 
wherefore”  of  Andy*s  sudden  advancement;  but,  as  the 
morning  was  to  he  occupied  with  Tom  Durfy*s  wedding, 
Dick  had  enough  to  keep  him  engaged  in  the  meantime. 

At  the  appointed  hour  a few  of  Tom*s  particular  friends 
were  in  attendance  to  witness  the  ceremony,  or,  to  use 
their  ©wn  phrase,  “to  see  him  turned  off,”  and  among 
them  was  Tom  Loftus.  Dick  was  holding  out  his  hand  to 
“ the  colonel,”  when  Tom  Durfy  stepped  between,  and  in- 
troduced him  under  his  real  name.  The  masquerading 
trick  of  the  night  before  was  laughed  at,  with  an  assurance 
from  Dick  that  it  only  fulfilled  all  he  had  ever  heard  of 
the  Protean  powers  of  a gentleman  whom  he  so  much 
wished  to  know.  A few  minutes*  conversation  in  the  recess 
of  a window  put  Tom  Loftus  and  Dick  the  Devil  on  per- 
fectly good  terms,  and  Loftus  proposed  to  Dick  that  they 
should  execute  the  old-established  trick  on  a bridegroom, 
of  snatching  the  first  kiss  from  the  bride. 

“You  must  get  in  Tom*s  way,”  said  Loftus,  “ and  1*11 
kiss  her.  ** 

“ Why,  the  fact  is,”  said  Dick,  “ I had  proposed  that 
pleasure  to  myself;  and,  if  it*s  all  the  same  to  you,  you  can 
jostle  Tom,  and  I’ll  do  the  remainder  in  good  style,  I 
promise  you.” 

“ That  I can*t  agree  to,”  said  Loftus;  “but  as  it  appears 
we  both  have  set  our  heart  on  cheating  the  bridegroom,  let 
us  both  start  fair,  and  *tis  odd  if  between  us  Tom  Durfy  is 
not  done.” 

This  was  agreed  upon,  and  many  minutes  did  not  elapse 
till  the  bride  made  her  appearance,  and  “ hostilities  were 


455 


HANDY  ANDY. 


about  to  commence.”  The  mutual  enemy  of  the  “high 
contracting  parties”  first  opened  his  book,  and  then  his 
mouth,  and  in  such  solemn  tones,  that  it  was  enough  to 
frighten  even  a widow,  much  less  a bachelor.  As  the  cere- 
mony verged  to  a conclusion,  Tom  Loftus  and  Dick  the 
Devil  edged  up  toward  their  Vantage-ground  on  either  side 
of  the  blooming  widow,  now  nearly  finished  into  a wife, 
and  stood  like  greyhounds  in  the  slip,  ready  to  start  after 
puss  (only  puss  ought  to  be  spelled  here  with  a B).  The 
widow,  having  been  married  before,  was  less  nervous  than 
Durfy,  and,  suspecting  the  intended  game,  determined  to 
foil  both  the  brigands,  who  intended  to  rob  the  bridegroom 
of  his  right;  so,  when  the  last  word  of  the  ceremony  was 
spoken,  and  Loftus  and  Dick  made  a simultaneous  dart 
upon  her,  she  very  adroitly  ducked,  and  allowed  the  two 
“ ruggers  and  rievers  ''  to  rush  into  each  other's  arms,  and 
rub  their  noses  together,  while  Tom  Durfy  and  his  bloom- 
ing bride  sealed  their  contract  very  agreeably  without  their 
noses  getting  in  each  other's  way. 

Loftus  and  Dick  had  only  a laugh  at  their  own  expense, 
instead  of  a kiss  at  Tom’s , upon  the  failure  of  their  plot; 
but  Loftus,  in  a w.hisper  to  Dick,  vowed  he  would  execute 
a trick  upon  the  “ pair  of  them  " before  the  day  was  over. 

There  was  a breakfast  as  usual,  and  chicken  and  tongue 
and  wine,  which,  taken  in  the  morning,  are  provocative  of 
eloquence;  and,  of  course,  the  proper  quantity  of  healths 
and  toasts  were  executed  selon  la  regie , until  it  was  time 
for  the  bride  and  bridegroom  to  bow  and  blush  and  courtesy 
out  of  the  room,  and  make  themselves  food  for  a paragraph 
in  the  morning  papers,  under  the  title  of  the  “happy 
pair,''  who  set  off  in  a handsome  chariot,  etc.,  etc. 

Tom  Durfy  had  engaged  a pretty  cottage  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Clontarf  to  pass  the  honey-moon.  Tom  Loftus 
knew  this,  and  knew,  moreover,  that  the  sitting-room 
looked  out  on  a small  lawn  which  lay  before  the  house, 
screened  by  a hedge  from  the  road,  but  with  a circular 
sweep  leading  up  to  the  house,  and  a gate  of  ingress  and 
egress  at  either  end  of  the  hedge.  In  this  sitting-room 
Tom,  after  lunch,  was  pressing  his  lady  fair  to  take  a glass 
of  champagne,  when  the  entrance-gate  was  thrown  open, 
and  a hackney  jaunting-car,  with  Tom  Loftus  and  a friend 
or  two  upon  it,  driven  by  a special  ragamuffin  blowing  a 


SlAtfDY  AKDY. 


tin  horn,  rolled  up  the  skimping  avenue,  and  as  it  scoured 
past  the  windows  of  the  sitting-room,  Tom  Loftus  and  the 
other  passengers  kissed  hands  to  the  astonished  bride  and 
bridegroom,  and  shouted,  “Wish  you  joy!” 

The  thing  was  so  sudden  that  Durfy  and  the  widow,  not 
seeing  Loftus,  could  hardly  comprehend  what  it  meant, 
and  both  ran  to  the  window;  but  just  as  they  reached  it, 
up  drove  another  car,  freighted  with  two  or  three  more 
wild  rascals,  who  followed  the  lead  which  had  been  given 
them;  and  as  a long  train  of  cars  wrere  seen  in  the  distance 
all  driving  up  to  the  avenue,  the  widow,  with  a timid  little 
scream,  threw  her  handkerchief  over  her  face  and  ran  into 
a corner.  Tom  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  be  angry, 
but,  being  a good-humored  fellow,  he  satisfied  himself  with 
a few  oaths  against  the  incorrigible  Loftus,  and  when  the 
cortege  had  passed,  endeavored  to  restore  the  startled  fair 
one  to  her  serenity. 

Squire  Egan  and  party  arrived  at  the  appointed  hour  at 
their  hotel,  where  Dick  was  waiting  to  receive  them,  and, 
of  course,  his  inquiries  were  immediately  directed  to  the 
extraordinary  circumstances  of  Andy^s  elevation,  the  de- 
tails of  which  he  desired  to  know.  These  we  shall  not  give 
in  the  expanded  form  in  which  Dick  heard  them,  but  en- 
deavor to  condense,  as  much  as  possible,  within  the  limits 
to  which  we  are  prescribed. 

The  title  of  Scatterbrain  had  never  been  inherited  di- 
rectly from  father  to  son;  it  had  descended  in  a zigzag 
fashion,  most  appropriate  to  the  name,  nephews  and  cous- 
ins having  come  in  for  the  coronet  and  the  property  for 
some  generations.  The  late  lord  had  led  a roue  bachelor 
life  up  to  the  age  of  sixty,  and  then  thought  it  not  worth 
while  to  marry,  though  many  mammas  and  daughters 
spread  their  nets  and  arrayed  their  charms  to  entrap  the 
sexagenarian. 

The  truth  was,  he  had  quaffed  the  cup  of  licentious 
pleasures  all  his  life,  after  which  he  thought  matrimony 
would  prove  insipid.  The  mere  novelty  induces  some  men, 
under  similar  circumstances,  to  try  the  holy  estate;  but 
matrimony  could  not  offer  to  Lord  Scatterbrain  the  charms 
of  novelty,  for  he  had  been  once  married,  though  no  one 
but  himself  was  cognizant  of  the  fact. 

The  reader  will  certainly  say,  “ Here^s  an  Irish  bulk 


458 


RAXBt  AXM. 


how  could  a man  be  married,  without,  at  least,  a woman 
and  a priest  being  joint  possessor  of  the  secret?” 

Listen,  gentle  reader,  and  you  shall  hear  how  none  but 
Lord  Scatterbrain  knew  Lord  Scatterbrain  was  married. 

There  was  nothing  at  which  he  ever  stopped  for  the 
gratification  of  his  passions — no  wealth  he  would  not 
squander,  no  deceit  he  would  not  practice,  no  disguise  he 
would  not  assume.  Therefore,  gold,  and  falsehood,  and 
masquerading  were  extensively  employed  by  this  reckless 
roue  in  the  service  of  Venus,  in  which  service,  combined 
with  that  of  Bacchus,  his  life  was  entirely  passed. 

Often  he  assumed  the  guise  of  a man  in  humble  life,  to 
approximate  some  object  of  his  desire,  whom  fine  clothes 
and  bribery  would  have  instantly  warned;  and  in  too  many 
cases  his  artifices  were  successful.  It  was  in  one  of  these 
adventures  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  woman  hitherto 
known  in  this  story  under  the  name  of  the  Widow  Rooney; 
but  all  his  practices  against  her  virtue  were  unavailing, 
and  nothing  but  a marriage  could  accomplish  what  he  had 
set  his  fancy  upon;  but  even  this  would  not  stop  him,  for 
he  married  her . 

The  Widow  Rooney  has  appeared  no  very  inviting  per- 
sonage through  these  pages,  and  the  reader  may  wonder 
that  a man  of  rank  could  proceed  to  such  desperate  lengths 
upon  such  slight  temptation;  but,  gentle  reader,  she  was 
young  and  attractive  when  she  married — never  to  say  hand- 
some, but  good-looking  decidedly,  • and  with  that  sort  of 
figure  which  is  comprehended  in  the  phrase  “ a fine  girl.” 

And  has  that  fine  girl  altered  into  the  Widow  Rooney? 
Ah!  poverty  and  hardship  are  sore  trials  to  the  body  as 
well  as  to  the  mind.  Too  little  is  it  considered,  while  we 
gaze  on  aristocratic  beauty,  how  much  good  food,  soft 
lying,  warm  wrapping,  ease  of  mind,  have  to  do  with  the 
attractions  which  command  our  admiration.  Many  a hand 
molded  by  nature  to  give  elegance  of  form  to  a kid  glove, 
is  “ stinted  of  its  fair  proportion  ” by  grubbing  toil.  The 
foot  which  might  have  excited  the  admiration  of  a ball- 
room, peeping  under  a flounce  of  lace  in  a satin  shoe,  and 
treading  the  mazy  dance,  will  grow  coarse  and  broad  by 
tramping  in  its  native  state  over  tiresome  miles,  bearing 
perchance  to  a market  town  some  few  eggs,  whose  whole 
produce  would  not  purchase  the  sandal-tie  of  my  lady's 
slipper;  will  grow  red  and  rough  by  standing  in  wet 


HANDY  ANDY. 


m 


trenches  and  feeling  the  winter^  frost.  The  neck  on  which 
diamonds  might  have  worthily  sparkled,  will  look  less 
tempting  when  the  biting  winter  has  hung  icicles  there  for 
gems.  Cheeks  formed  as  fresh  for  dimpling  blushes,  eyes 
as  well  to  sparkle,  and  lips  to  smile,  as  those  which  shed 
their  brightness  and  their  witchery  in  the  tapestried  sa- 
loon, will  grow  pale  with  want,  and  forget  their  dimples, 
when  smiles  are  not  there  to  wake  them;  lips  become 
compressed  and  drawn  with  anxious  thought,  and  eyes  the 
brightest  are  quenched  of  their  fires  by  many  tears. 

Of  all  these  trials  poor  Widow  Eooney  had  enough. 
Her  husband,  after  living  with  her  a month,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a steward  to  some  great  man  in  a distant  part  of 
the  country,  left  her  one  day  for  the  purpose  of  transacting 
business  at  a fair,  which,  Le  said,  would  require  his  absence 
for  some  time.  At  the  end  of  a week,  a letter  was  sent  to 
her,  stating  that  the  make-believe  steward  had  robbed  his 
master  extensively,  and  had  fled  to  America,  whence  he 
promised  to  write  to  her,  and  send  her  means  to  follow 
him,  requesting,  in  the  meantime,  her  silence,  in  case  any 
inquiry  should  be  made  about  him.  This  villainous  trick 
was  played  off  the  more  readily  from  the  fact  that  a stew- 
ard had  absconded  at  the  time,  and  the  difference  in  the 
name  the  cruel  profligate  accounted  for  by  saying  that,  as 
he  was  hiding  at  the  moment  he  married  her,  he  had  as- 
sumed another  name. 

The  poor  deserted  girl,  fully  believing  this  trumped-up 
tale,  obeyed  with  unflinching  fidelity  the  injunctions  of  her 
betrayer;  and  while  reports  were  flying  abroad  of  the  ab- 
sconded steward,  she  never  breathed  a word  of  what  had 
been  confided  to  her,  and  accounted  for  the  absence  of 
“ Eooney  ” in  various  ways  of  her  own;  so  that  all  trace  of 
the  profligate  was  lost,  by  her  remaining  inactive  in  mak^ 
ing  the  smallest  inquiry  about  him,  and  her  very  fidelity  to 
her  betrayer  became  the  means  of  her  losing  all  power  of 
procuring  his  discovery.  For  months  she  trusted  all  was 
right;  but  when  moon  followed  moon,  and  she  gave  birth 
to  a boy  without  hearing  one  word  of  his  father,  misgiving 
came  upon  her,  and  the  only  consolation  left  her  was,  that, 
though  she  was  deserted,  and  a child  left  on  her  hands,  still 
she  was  an  honest  woman.  That  child  was  the  hero  of  our 
tale.  The  neighbors  passed  some  ill-natured  remarks  about 
her,  when  it  began  to  be  suspected  that  her  husband  would 


460 


HAHDY  AHDIt. 


never  let  her  know  more  about  him;  for  she  had  been 
rather  a saucy  lady,  holding  up  her  nose  at  poor  men,  and 
triumphing  in  her  catching  of  the  “ steward,”  a man  well 
to  do  in  the  world;  and  it  may  be  remembered  that  this 
same  spirit  existed  in  her  when  Andy^s  rumored  marriage 
with  Matty  gave  the  prospect  of  her  affairs  being  retrieved, 
for  she  displayed  her  love  of  pre-eminence  to  the  very  first 
person  who  gave  her  the  good  news.  The  ill- nature  of  her 
neighbors,  however,  after  the  birth  of  her  child,  and  the 
desertion  of  her  husband,  inducing  her  to  leave  the  scene 
of  her  unmerited  wrongs  and  annoyances,  she  suddenly  de- 
camped, and,  removing  to  another  part  of  Ireland,  the  poor 
woman  began  a life  of  hardship,  to  support  herself  and 
rear  the  offspring  of  her  unfortunate  marriage.  In  this 
task  she  was  worthily  assisted  by  one  of  her  brothers,  who 
pitied  her  condition,  and  joined  her  in  her  retreat.  He 
married  in  course  of  time,  and  his  wife  died  in  giving  birth 
to  Oonah,  who  was  soon  deprived  of  her  other  parent  by 
typhus  fever,  that  terrible  scourge  of  the  poor;  so  that  the 
praiseworthy  desire  of  the  brother  to  befriend  his  sister  only 
involved  her,  as  it  happened,  in  the  deeper  difficulty  of  sup- 
porting two  children  instead  of  one.  This  she  did  heroic- 
ally, and  the  orphan  girl  rewarded  her,  by  proving  a 
greater  comfort  than  her  own  child;  for  Andy  had  in- 
herited in  all  its  raciness  the  blood  of  the  Scatterbrains,  and 
his  deeds,  as  recorded  in  this  history,  prove  he  was  no  un- 
worthy representative  of  that  illustrious  title. 

To  return  to  his  father — who  had  done  the  grievous 
wrong  to  the  poor  peasant  girl:  he  lived  his  life  of  profligacy 
through,  and  in  a foreign  country  died  at  last;  but  on  his 
death-bed  the  scourge  of  conscience  rendered  every  helpless 
hour  an  age  of  woe.  Bitterest  of  all  was  the  thought  of  the 
wife  deceived,  deserted,  and  unacknowledged.  To  face  his 
last  account  with  such  fearful  crime  upon  his  head  he  dared 
not,  and  made  all  the  reparation  now  in  his  power,  by  avow- 
ing his  marriage  in  his  last  will  and  testament,  and  giving  all 
the  information  in  his  power  to  trace  his  wife,  if  living,  or  his 
heir,  if  such  existed.  He  enjoined,  by  the  most  sacred  in- 
junctions upon  him  to  whom  the  charge  was  committed,  that 
neither  cost  nor  trouble  should  be  spared  in  the  search, 
leaving  a large  sum  in  ready  money  besides,  to  establish  the 
right,  in  case  his  nephew  disputed  the  will.  By  his  own 
order,  his  death  was  kept  secret,  and  secretly  his  agent  set 


HANDY  ANDY. 


461 


to  work  to  discover  any  trace  of  the  heir.  This,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  woman  changing  her  place  of  abode,  became 
more  difficult;  and  it  was  not  until  after  very  minute  in- 
quiry that  some  trace  was  picked  up,  and  a letter  written 
to  the  parish  priest  of  the  district  to  which  she  had  removed, 
making  certain  general  inquiries.  It  was  found,  on  com- 
paring dates  some  time  after,  that  it  was  this  very  letter  to 
Father  Blake  which  Andy  had  purloined  from  the  post- 
office,  and  the  Squire  had  thrown  into  the  fire;  so  that  our 
hero  was  very  near,  by  his  blundering,  destroying  his  own 
fortanf.  Luckily  for  him,  however,  an  untiring  and  in- 
telligent agent  was  engaged  in  his  cause,  and  a subsequent 
inquiry,  and  finally  a personal  visit  to  Father  Blake,  cleared 
the  matter  up  satisfactorily,  and  the  widow  was  enabled  to 
produce*  such  proof  of  her  identity,  and  that  of  her  son, 
that  Handy  Andy  was  indisputably  Lord  Scatterbrain; 
and  the  whole  affair  was  managed  so  secretly,  that  the 
death  of  the  late  lord,  and  the  claim  of  title  and  estates  in 
the  name  of  the  rightful  heir,  were  announced  at  the  same 
moment;  and  the  “Honorable  Sackville,”  instead  of  com- 
ing into  possession  of  the  peerage  and  property,  and  fight- 
ing his  adversary  at  the  great  advantage  of  possession, 
could  only  commence  a suit  to  drive  him  out,  if  he  sued  at 
all. 

Cur  limits  compel  us  to  this  brief  sketch  of  the  circum- 
stances through  which  Handy  Andy  was  entitled  to  and  be- 
came possessed  of  a property  and  a title,  and  we  must  now 
say  something  of  the  effects  produced  by  the  intelligence  on 
the  parties  most  concerned. 

The  Honorable  Sackviile  Scatterbrain,  on  the  advice  of 
high  legal  authority,  did  not  attempt  to  dispute  a succes- 
sion of  which  such  satisfactory  proofs  existed,  and,  fort- 
unately for  himself,  had  knocked  up  a watering-place 
match,  while  he  was  yet  in  the  bloom  of  heirship  pre- 
sumptive to  a peerage,  with  the  daughter  of  an  English 
millionaire . 

When  the  Widow  Kooney  heard  the  extraordinary  turn 
affairs  had  taken,  her  emotions,  after  the  first  few  hours 
of  pleasurable  surprise,  partook  of  regret  rather  than 
satisfaction.  She  looked  upon  her  past  life  of  suffering, 
and  felt  as  if  Fate  had  cheated  her.  She,  a peeress,  had 
passed  her  life  in  poverty  and  suffering,  with  contempt 
from  those  over  whom  she  had  superior  rights;  and  the  few 


4:62 


HANDY  ANDY. 


years  of  the  prosperous  future  before  her  offered  her  poor 
compensation  for  the  pinching  past.  But  after  such  selfish 
considerations,  the  maternal  feeling  came  to  her  relief,  and 
she  rejoiced  that  her  son  was  a lord.  But  then  came  the 
terrible  thought  of  his  marriage  to  dash  her  joy  and 
triumph. 

This  was  a source  of  grief  to  Oonah  as  well.  “If  he 
wasn’t  married,”  she  would  say  to  herself,  “ I might  be 
Lady  Scatterbrain;”  and  the  tears  would  burst  through 
poor  Oonah’s  fingers  as  she  held  them  up  to  her  eyes  and 
sobbed  heavily,  till  the  poor  girl  would  try  to  gather  con- 
solation from  the  thought  that,  may  be,  Andy’s  altered  cir- 
cumstances would  make  her  disregarded.  “There  would 
be  plenty  to  have  him  now,”  thought  she,  “ and  he  wouldn’t 
think  of  me,  may  be — so  ’tis  well  as  it  is.” 

When  Andy  heard  that  he  was  a lord — a real  lord — and, 
after  the  first  shock  of  astonishment,  could  comprehend 
that  wealth  and  power  were  in  his  possession,  he,  though 
the  most  interested  person,  never  thought,  as  the  two 
women  had  done,  of  the  desperate  strait  in  which  his 
marriage  placed  him,  but  broke  out  into  short  peals  of 
laughter,  and  exclaimed  in  the  intervals,  “that  it  was 
mighty  quare;”  and  when,  after  much  questioning,  any  in- 
telligible desire  he  had  could  be  understood,  the  first  one 
he  clearly  expressed  was  “to  have  a goolcl  watch.” 

He  was  made,  however,  to  understand  that  other  things 
than  “goold  watches”  were  of  more  importance;  and  the 
Squire,  with  his  characteristic  good  nature,  endeavored  to 
open  Andy’s  comprehension  to  the  nature  of  his  altered 
situation.  This,  it  may  be  supposed,  was  rather  a compli- 
cated piece  of  work,  and  too  difficult  to  be  set  down  in 
black  and  white;  the  most  intelligible  portions  to  Andy 
were  his  immediate  removal  from  servitude,  and  a ready- 
made suit  of  gentlemanly  apparel,  which  made  Andy  pay 
several  visits  to  the  looking-glass.  Good-natured  as  the 
Squire  was,  it  would  have  been  equally  awkward  to  him  as 
to  Andy  for  the  newly  fledged  lord,  though  a lord,  to  have 
a seat  at  his  table,  neither  could  he  remain  in  an  inferior 
position  in  his  house;  so  Dick,  who  loved  fun,  volunteered 
to  take  Andy  under  his  special  care  to  London,  and  let  him 
share  his  lodgings,  as  a bachelor  may  do  many  things  which 
i man  surrounded  by  his  family  can  not.  Besides,  in  a 
place  distant  from  such  extraordinary  chances  and  changes 


HANDY  ANDY. 


483 


as  those  which  befell  our  hero,  the  sudden  and  startling 
difference  of  position  of  the  parties  not  being  known  ren- 
ders it  possible  for  a gentleman  to  do  the  good-natured 
thing  which  Dick  undertook,  without  compromising  him- 
self. In  Dublin  it  would  not  have  done  for  Dick  Dawson 
to  allow  the  man  who  would  have  held  his  horse  the  day 
before,  to  share  the  same  board  with  him  merely  because 
Fortune  had  played  one  of  her  frolics  and  made  Andy  a 
lord ; but  in  London  the  case  was  different. 

To  London  therefore  they  proceeded.  The  incidents  of 
the  journey,  seasickness  included,  which  so  astonished  the 
new  traveler,  we  pass  over,  as  well  as  the  numberless  mis- 
takes in  the  great  metropolis,  which  afforded  Dick  plenti- 
ful amusement,  though,  in  truth,  Dick  had  better  objects 
in  view  than  laughing  at  Andy’s  embarrassments  in  his 
new  position.  He  really  wished  to  help  him  in  the  diffi- 
cult path  into  which  the  new  lord  had  been  thrust,  and  did 
this  in  a merry  sort  of  v/ay  more  successfully  thai  by 
serious  drilling.  It  wTas  hard  to  break  Andy  of  the  habit 
of  saying  “Misther  Dick”  when  addressing  him,  but, 
at  last,  Is  Misther  Dawson  ” was  established.  Eating  with 
his  knife,  drinking  as  loudly  as  a horse,  and  other  like  ac- 
complishments, were  not  so  easily  got  under,  yet  it  wras 
wonderful  how  much  he  improved,  as  Ins  shyness  grew 
less,  and  his  consciousness  of  being  a lord  grew  stronger. 

But,  if  the  good  nature  of  Dick  had  not  prompted  him 
to  take  Andy  into  training,  the  newly  discovered  nobleman 
would  not  have  long  been  in  want  of  society.  It  was  won- 
derful how  many  persons  were  eager  to  show  civility  to 
his  lordship,  and  some  amongst  them  even  v/ent  so  far  as 
to  discover  relationship.  Plenty  were  soon  ready  to  take 
Lord  Scatterbrain  here,  and  escort  him  there,  accompany 
him  to  exhibitions  and  other  public  places,  and  charmed 
all  the  time  writh  his  lordship’s  remarks — “they  w^ere  so 
original  ” — “quite  delightful  to  meet  something  so  fresh  ” 
— “how  remarkably  clever  the  Irish  were!”  Such  were 
among  the  observations  his  ignorant  blunders  produced; 
and  he  who,  as  Handy  Andy,  had  been  anathematized  aft 
his  life  as  a “stupid  rascal,”  “a  blundering  thief,”  “a 
thick-headed  brute,”  etc.,  under  the  title  of  Lord  Scatter- 
brain all  of  & sudden  was  voted  “vastly  amusing — a little 
eccentric,  perhaps,  but  so  droll — in  fact,  so  witty!” 

This  was  all  very  delightful  for  Andy — so  delightful  that 


m 


HANDY  ANDY. 


he  quite  forgot  Bridget  rhua.  But  that  lady  did  not  leave 
him  long  in  his  happy  obliviousness.  One  day,  while  Dick 
was  absent,  and  Andy  rocking  on  a chair  before  the  fire, 
twirling  the  massive  gold  chain  of  his  gold  watch  round 
his  forefinger,  and  uncoiling  it  again,  his  repose  was  sud- 
denly disturbed  by  the  appearance  of  Bridget  herself,  ac- 
companied by  Shan  More  and  a shrimp  of  a man  in  rusty 
black,  who  turned  out  to  be  a shabby  attorney  who  ad- 
vanced money  to  convey  his  lady  client  and  her  brother  to 
London,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a dash  at  the  lord  at 
once,  and  securing  a handsome  sum  by  a coup  de  main . 

Andy,  though  taken  by  surprise,  was  resolute.  Bitter 
words  were  exchanged;  and  as  they  seemed  likely  to  lead 
to  blows,  Andy  prudently  laid  hold  of  the  poker,  and,  in 
language  not  quite  suited  to  a noble  lord,  swore  he  would 
see  what  the  inside  of  Shan  More’s  head  was  made  of,  if 
he  attempted  to  advance  upon  him.  Bridget  screamed  and 
scolded,  while  the  attorney  endeavored  to  keep  the  peace, 
and,  beyond  everything,  urged  Lord  Scatterbrain  to  enter 
at  once  into  written  engagements  for  a handsome  settle- 
ment upon  his  “lady.” 

“Lady!”  exclaimed  Andy;  “ oh! — a pretty  lady  she  is!” 

“I'm  as  good  a lady  as  you  are  a lord,  anyhow,”  cried 
Bridget. 

“ Altercation  will  do  no  good,  my  lord  and  my  lady,” 
said  the  attorney;  “ let  me  suggest  the  propriety  of  your 
writing  an  engagement  at  once;”  and  the  little  man  pushed 
pen,  ink,  and  paper  toward  Andy. 

“I  can't,  I tell  you!”  cried  Andy. 

“ You  must!”  roared  Shan  More . 

“Bad  luck  to  you,  how  can  I when  I never  larned?” 

“ Your  lordship  can  make  your  mark,”  said  the  attorney. 

“ Faith  I can— with  a poker,”  cried  Andy;  “ and  you'd 
better  take  care,  master  parchment.  Make  my  mark,  in- 
deed— do  you  think  I'd  disgrace  the  House  o'  Peers  by 
lettin'  on  that  a lord  couldn't  write?  Quit  the  building,  I 
tell  you!” 

In  the  midst  of  the  row,  which  now  rose  to  a tremen- 
dous pitch,  Dick  returned;  and  aftlr  a severe  reprimand 
to  the  pettifogger  for  his  sinister  attempt  on  Andy,  re- 
ferred him  to  Lord  Scatterbrain's  solicitor.  It  was  not 
such  an  easy  matter  to  silence  Bridget,  who  extended  her 
claws  toward  her  lord  and  master  in  a very  menacing 


HANDY  ANDY. 


460 


manner,  calling  down  bitter  imprecations  on  her  own  head 
if  she  wouldn't  have  her  rights. 

Every  now  and  then  between  the  bursts  of  the  storm 
Andy  would  exclaim,  “ Get  out!" 

“ My  lord,"  said  Dick,  “ remember  your  dignity." 

“ Av  coorse!"  said  Andy;  “but  still  she  must  get  out!" 

The  house  was  at  last  cleared  of  the  uproarious  party; 
but  though  Andy  got  rid  of  their  presence,  they  left  their 
sting  behind.  Lord  Scatterbrain  felt,  for  the  first  time, 
that  a lord  can  be  very  unhappy. 

Dick  hurried  him  away  at  once  to  the  chambers  of  the  law 
agent,  but  he,  being  closeted  on  some  very  important  busi- 
ness with  another  client  on  their  arrival,  returned  an  an- 
swer to  their  application  for  a conference,  which  they 
forwarded  through  the  double  doors  of  this  sanctum  by  a 
hard-looking  man  with  a pen  behind  his  ear,  that  he  could 
not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  till  the  next  morning. 
Lord  Scatterbrain  passed  a more  unhappy  night  than  he 
had  ever  done  in  his  life — even  than  that  when  he  was  tied 
up  to  the  old  tree — croaked  at  by  ravens,  and  the  despised 
of  rats. 

Negotiations  were  opened  the  next  day  between  the 
pettifogger  on  Bridget's  side  a id  the  law  agent  of  the  no- 
ble lord,  and  the  arguments,  j ro  and  con , lay  thus: 

In  the  first  place,  the  ope  ling  declaration  was — Lord 
Scatterbrain  never  would  live  vith  the  aforesaid  Bridget. 

Answered — that  nevertheles  3,  as  she  was  his  lawful  wife, 
a provision  suitable  to  her  ran  k must  be  made. 

They  (the  claimants)  were  i sked  to  name  a sum. 

The  sum  was  considered  excrbitant;  it  being  argued  that 
when  her  husband  had  determ  ned  never  to  live  with  her, 
he  was  in  a far  different  condi  ion,  therefore  it  was  unfair 
to  seek  so  large  a separate  maintenance  now. 

The  pettifogger  threatened  ;hat  Lady  Scatterbrain  would 
run  in  debt,  which  Lord  Scattirbrain  must  discharge.  My 
Lord's  agent  suggested  that  my  Lady  would  be  advertised 
in  the  public  papers,  and  the  public  cautioned  against 
giving  her  credit. 

A sum  could  not  be  agreed  upon,  though  a fair  one  was 
offered  on  Andy's  part;  for  the  greediness  of  the  pettifog- 
ger, who  was  to  have  a share  of  the  plunder,  made  him 
hold  out  for  more,  and  negotiations  were  broken  off  for 
some  days. 


466 


HANDY  ANDY. 


Poor  Andy  was  in  a wretched  state  of  vexation.  It  was 
bad  enough  that  he  was  married  to  this  abominable  woman, 
without  an  additional  plague  of  being  persecuted  by  her* 
To  such  an  amount  this  rose  at  last,  that  she  and  her  big 
brother  dodged  him  every  time  he  left  the  house,,  so  that 
in  self-defense  he  was  obliged  to  become  a close  prisoner 
in  his  own  lodgings.  All  this  at  last  became  so  intolerable 
to  the  captive,  that  he  urged  a speedy  settlement  of  the 
vexatious  question,  and  a larger  separate  maintenance  was 
granted  to  the  detestable  woman  than  would  otherwise  have 
been  ceded,  the  only  stipulation  of  a stringent  nature  made 
being,  that  Lord  Scatterbrain  should  be  free  from  the  per- 
secutions of  his  hateful  wife  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Squire  Egan,  with  his  lady  and  Fanny  Dawson,  had 
now  arrived  in  London;  Murtough  Murphy,  too,  had  joined 
them,  his  services  being  requisite  in  working  the  petition 
against  the  return  of  the  sitting  member  for  the  county. 
This  had  so  much  promise  of  success  about  it,  that  the  op- 
posite party,  who  had  the  sheriff  for  the  county  in  their  in- 
terest, bethought  of  a novel  expedient  to  frustrate  the  peti- 
tion when  a reference  to  the  poll  was  required. 

They  declared  the  principal  poll-book  was  lost. 

This  seemed  not  very  satisfactory  to  one  side  of  the  com- 
mittee, and  the  question  was  asked,  “ how  could  it  be 
lost?"  The  answer  was  one  wdiicli  Irish  contrivance  alone 
could  have  invented:  “ It  fell  into  a pot  of  broth , and  the 
dog  ate  it.”* 

This  protracted  the  contest  for  some  time;  but  eventu- 
ally, in  spite  of  the  dog's  devouring  knowledge  so  greedily, 
the  Squire  was  declared  duly  elected  and  took  the  oaths 
and  his  seat  for  the  county. 

It  was  hard  on  Sackville  Scatterbrain  to  lose  his  seat  in 
the  house  and  a peerage,  nearly  at  once;  but  the  latter 
loss  threw  the  former  so  far  into  the  shade,  that  he  scarcely 
felt  it.  Besides,  he  could  console  himself  with  having  but- 

* If  not  this  identical  answer,  something  like  it  was  given  on  a 
disputed  Irish  election,  before  a Committee  of  the  House  of  Com- 

mom. 


HANDY  ANDY. 


467 


tered  his  crumbs  pretty  well  in  the  marriage-market;  and, 
with  a rich  wife,  retired  from  senatorial  drudgery  to  pri- 
vate repose,  which  was  much  more  congenial  to  his  easy 
temper. 

But  while  the  Squire’s  happy  family  circle  was  rejoicing 
in  his  triumph — while  he  was  invited  to  the  Speaker’s  din- 
ners, and  the  ladies  were  looking  forward  to  tickets  for 
“ the  lantern,”  their  pleasure  was  suddenly  dashed  by  fatal 
news  from  Ireland. 

A serious  accident  had  befallen  Major  Dawson — so 
serious,  that  his  life  was  despaired  of;  and  an  immediate 
return  to  Ireland  by  all  who  were  interested  in  his  life  was 
the  consequence. 

Though  the  suddenness  of  this  painful  event  shocked  his 
family,  the  act  which  caused  it  did  not  surprise  them;  for 
it  was  one  against  which  Major  Dawson  had  been  repeat- 
edly cautioned,  involving  a danger  he  had  been  affection- 
ately requested  not  to  tempt;  but  the  habitual  obstinacy  of 
his  nature  prevailed,  and  he  persisted  in  doing  that  which 
his  son — and  his  daughters — -and  friends — prophesied  would 
kill  him  some  time  or  other,  and  did , at  last.  The  Major 
had  three  little  iron  guns,  mounted  on  carriages,  on  a ter- 
race in  front  of  his  house;  and  it  was  his  wont  to  fire  a 
salute  on  certain  festival  days  from  these  guns,  which,  from 
age  and  exposure  to  the  weather,  became  dangerous  to  use. 
It  was  in  vain  that  his  danger  was  represented  to  him.  He 
would  reply,  with  his  accustomed  “ Pooh!  pooh!  I have 
been  firing  these  guns  for  forty  years,  and  they  won’t  do 
me  any  harm  now.” 

This  was  the  prime  fault  of  the  major’s  character.  Time 
and  circumstances  were  never  taken  into  account  by  him; 
what  was  done  once,  might  be  done  alivays — ought  to  be 
done  always.  The  bare  thought  of  change  of  any  sort,  to 
him,  was  unbearable;  and  whether  it  was  a rotten  old  law 
or  a rotten  old  gun,  he  would  charge  both  up  to  the  muzzle 
and  fire  away,  regardless  of  consequences.  The  result 
was,  that  on  a certain  festival  his  favorite  gun  burst  in  dis- 
charging; and  the  last  mortal  act  of  which  the  major  was 
conscious,  was  that  of  putting  tne  port-fire  to  the  touch- 
hole,  for  a heavy  splinter  of  iron  struck  him  on  the  head, 
and  though  he  lived  for  some  days  afterward,  he  was  in* 
sensible.  Before  his  children  arrived  he  was  no  more;  and 


46S 


EA1TDY  AKDY. 


the  only  duty  left  them  to  perform  was  the  melancholy  one 
of  ordering  his  funeral. 

The  obsequies  of  the  old  Major  were  honored  by  a large 
and  distinguished  attendance  from  all  parts  of  the  country; 
and  amongst  those  who  bore  the  pall  was  Edward  O'ConT 
nor,  who  had  the  melancholy  gratification  of  testifying  his 
respect  beside  the  grave  of  Fanny's  father,  though  the 
severe  old  man  had  banished  him  from  his  presence  during 
his  life-time. 

But  now  all  obstacle  to  the  union  of  Edward  and  Fanny 
was  removed;  and  after  the  lapse  of  a few  days  had  soft? 
ened  the  bitter  grief  which  this  sudden  bereavement  of  her 
father  had  produced,  Edward  received  a note  from  Dick, 
inviting  him  to  the  manor-house,  where  all  would  be  glad 
to  see  him. 

In  a few  minutes  after  the  receipt  of  that  note  Edward 
was  in  his  saddle,  and  swiftly  leaving  the  miles  behind  him 
till,  from  the  top  of  a rising  ground,  the  roof  of  the  manor- 
house  appeared  above  the  trees  in  which  it  was  embosomed. 
He  had  not  till  then  slackened  his  speed;  but  now  drawing 
rein,  he  proceeded  at  a slower  pace  toward  the  house  he 
had  not  entered  for  some  years,  and  the  sight  of  which 
awakened  such  varied  emotions. 

To  return  after  long  years  of  painful  absence  to  some 
place  which  has  been  the  scone  of  our  former  joys,  and 
whence  the  force  of  circumstance,  and  not  choice,  has 
driven  us,  is  oppressive  to  the  heart.  There  is  a mixed 
sense  of  regret  and  rejoicing,  which  struggle  for  pre- 
dominance; we  rejoice  that  o ir  term  of  exile  has  expired, 
but  we  regret  the  years  which  that  exile  has  deducted  from 
the  brief  amount  of  human  life,  never  to  be  recalled,  and 
therefore  as  so  much  lost  to  us.  We  think  of  the  wrong  or 
the  caprice  of  which  we  have  been  the  victims,  and 
thoughts  will  stray  across  the  most  confiding  heart,  if 
friends  shall  meet  as  fondly  as  they  parted;  or  if  time, 
while  impressing  deeper  marks  upon  the  outward  form, 
may  have  obliterated  some  impressions  within . Who  has 
returned  after  years  of  absence,  however  assured  of  the 
unflinching  fidelity  of  the  love  he  left  behind,  without  say- 
ing to  himself,  in  the  pardonable  yearning  of  affection, 
“ Shall  1 meet  smiles  as  bright  as  those  that  used  to  wel- 
come me?  Shall  I be  pressed  as  fondly  within  the  arms 


HANDY  ANDY.  460 

whose  encompassment  were  to  me  the  pale  of  all  earthly 
enjoyment?” 

Such  thoughts  crowded  on  Edward  as  he  approached  the 
house.  There  was  not  a lane,  or  tree,  or  hedge,  by  the 
way,  that  had  not  for  him  its  associations.  He  reached  the 
avenue  gate;  as  he  flung  it  open  he  remembered  the  las* 
time  he  passed  it;  Fanny  had  then  leaned  on  his  arm.  He 
felt  himself  so  much  excited,  that,  instead  of  riding  up  to 
the  house,  he  took  the  private  path  to  the  stables,  and, 
throwing  down  the  reins  to  a boy,  he  turned  into  a shrub- 
bery and  endeavored  to  recover  his  self-command  before  he 
should  present  himself.  As  he  emerged  from  the  sheltered 
path  and  turned  into  a walk  which  led  to  the  garden,  a 
small  conservatory  was  opened  to  his  view,  awaking  fresh 
sensations.  It  was  in  that  very  place  he  had  first  ventured 
to  declare  his  love  to  Fanny.  There  she  heard  and  frowned 
not;  there,  where  nature’s  choicest  sweets  were  exhaling, 
he  had  first  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  thought  the 
balmy  sweetness  of  her  lips  beyond  them  all.  He  hurried 
forward  in  the  enthusiasm  the  recollection  recalled,  to  enter 
that  spot  consecrated  in  his  memory;  but  on  arriving  at 
the  door,  he  suddenly  stopped,  for  he  saw  Fanny  within. 
She  was  plucking  a geranium — the  flower  she  had  been 
plucking  some  years  before,  when  Edward  said  he  loved 
her.  She,  all  that  morning,  had  been  under  the  influence 
of  feelings  similar  to  Edward’s;  had  felt  the  same  yearn- 
ings— the  same  tender  doubts — the  same  fond  solicitude 
that  he  should  be  the  same  Edward  from  whom  she  part- 
ed. But  she  thought  of  more  than  this;  with  the  exquisite- 
ly delicate  contrivance  belonging  to  woman’s  nature,  she 
wished  to  give  him  a signal  of  her  fond  recollection,  and 
was  plucking  the  flower  she  gathered  when  he  declared  his 
love,  to  place  on  her  bosom  when  they  should  meet.  Ed- 
Ward  felt  the  meaning  of  her  action,  as  the  graceful  hand 
broke  the  flower  from  its  stem.  He  would  have  rushed 
toward  her  at  once,  but  that  the  deep  mourning  in  which 
she  was  arrayed  seemed  to  command  a gentler  approach; 
for  grief  commands  respect.  He  advanced  softly — she 
heard  a gentle  step  behind  her — turned — uttered  a faint 
exclamation  of  joy,  and  sunk  into  his  arms!  In  a few  mo- 
ments she  recovered  her  consciousness,  and  opening  her 
sweet  eyes  upon  him,  breathed  softly,  “ dear  Edward!” 
and  the  lips  which,  in  two  words,  had  expressed  so  much* 


470 


HANDY  ANDY, 


Were  impressed  with  a fervent  kiss  in  the  blessed  conscious- 
ness of  possession,  on  that  very  spot  where  the  first  timid 
and  doubting  word  of  love  had  been  spoken. 

In  that  moment  he  was  rewarded  for  all  his  years  of  ab- 
sence and  anxiety.  His  heart  was  satisfied;  he  felt  he  was 
dear  as  ever  to  the  woman  he  idolized,  and  the  short  and 
hurried  beating  of  loth  their  hearts  told  more  than  words 
could  express.  Words!  what  were  words  to  them?  thought 
was  too  swift  for  their  use,  and  feeling  too  strong  for  their 
utterance;  but  they  drank  from  each  other’s  eyes  large 
draughts  of  delight,  and,  in  the  silent  pressure  of  each 
other’s  welcoming  embrace,  felt  how  truly  they  loved  each 
other. 

He  led  her  gently  from  the  conservatory,  and  they  ex- 
changed words  of  affection  “ soft  and  low,”  as  they  saun- 
tered through  the  wooded  path  which  surrounded  the  house. 
That  livelong  day  they  wandered  up  and  down  together, 
repeating  again  and  again  the  anxious  yearnings  which  oc- 
cupied their  years  of  separation,  yet  asking  each  other  was 
not  all  more  than  repaid  by  the  gladness  of  the  present— 

“ Yet  hoiv  painful  has  been  the  past!”  exclaimed  Ed- 
ward. 

“ But  now  !”  said  Fanny,  with  a gentle  pressure  of  her 
tiny  hand  on  Edward’s  arm,  and  looking  up  to  him  with 
her  bright  eyes  “ but  noio  /” 

“ True,  darling!”  he  cried;  “ ’tis  ungrateful  to  think 
of  the  past  while  enjoying  such  a present  and  with  such  a 
future  before  me.  Bless  that  cheerful  heart,  and  those 
hope-inspiring  glances!  Oh,  Fanny!  in  the  wilderness  of 
life  there  are  springs  and  palm-trees — you  are  both  to  me  I 
and  heaven  has  set  its  own  mark  upon  you  in  those  laugh- 
ing blue  eyes  which  might  set  despair  at  defiance.” 

“ Poetical  as  ever,  Edward!”  said  Fanny,  laughing. 

“ Sit  down,  dearest,  for  a moment,  on  this  old  tree,  be- 
side me;  ’tis  not  the  first  time  I have  strung  rhymes  in 
your  presence  and  your  praise.”  He  took  a small  note- 
book from  his  pocket,  and  Fanny  looked  on  smilingly  as 
Edward’s  pencil  rapidly  ran  over  the  leaf  and  traced  the 
lover’s  tribute  to  his  mistress. 

“THE  SUNSHINE  IN  YOU. 

i. 

4t  It  is  sweet  when  we  look  round  the  wide  world's  waste, 

To  know  that  the  desert  bestows 


HANDY  ANDY. 


471 


The  palms  where  the  weary  heart  may  refit* 
The  spring  that  in  purity  flows. 

And  where  have  I found 
In  this  wilderness  round 
That  spring  and  that  shelter  so  true; 
Unfailing  in  need. 

And  my  own,  indeed? — 

Oh!  dearest,  I’ve  found  it  in  you! 


u And,  oh,  when  the  cloud  of  some  darkening  hour 
O’ershadows  the  soul  with  its  gloom. 

Then  where  is  the  light  of  the  vestal  pow’r. 

The  lamp  of  pale  hope  to  illume? 

Oh ! the  light  ever  lies 
In  those  bright  fond  eyes. 

Where  Heaven  has  impress’d  its  own  blue 
As  a seal  from  the  skies 


Fanny  liked  the  lines,  of  course.  “ Dearest,”  she  said, 
“ may  I always  prove  sunshine  to  you!  Is  it  not  a strange 
coincidence  that  these  lines  exactly  fit  a little  air  which  oc- 
curred to  me  some  time  ago?*  * 

“ *Tis  odd/*  said  Edward;  “ sing  it  to  me,  darling.” 
Fanny  took  the  verses  from  his  hand,  and  sung  them  to 
her  own  measure.  Oh,  happy  triumph  of  the  poet!  to 
hear  his  verses  wedded  to  swe  J 1 1 1 1 T 1 


his  voice  to  hers  in  harmo 

homeward,  trolling  their  ready-made  duet  together.  There 
were  not  two  happier  hearts  in  the  world  that  day  than 
those  of  Fanny  Dawson  and  Edward  0*  Connor. 


Respect  for  the  memory  of  Major  Dawson  of  course 
prevented  the  immediate  marriage  of  Edward  and  Fanny; 
but  the  winter  months  passed  cheerfully  away  in  looking 
forward  to  the  following  autumn  which  should  witness  the 
completion  of  their  happiness.  Though  Edward  was  thus 
tempted  by  the  society  of  the  one  he  loved  best  in  the 
world,  it  did  not  make  him  neglect  the  duties  he  had 
undertaken  in  behalf  of  Gustavus.  Not  only  did  he  prose- 
cute his  reading  with  him  regularly,  but  he  took  no  small 


ii. 


As  my  heart  relies 
On  that  giftof  sunshine  in  you!” 


woman  he  loves!  Edward 


CHAPTER  L. 


472 


HAHDY  A2tt>Y. 


pains  in  looking  after  the  involved  affairs  of  the  family, 
and  strove  to  make  satisfactory  arrangements  with  those 
whose  claims  were  gnawing  away  the  estate  to  nothing. 
Though  the  years  of  Gusty's  minority  were  but  few,  still 
they  would  give  the  estate  some  breathing-time;  and 
creditors,  seeing  the  minor  backed  by  a man  of  character, 
and  convinced  a sincere  desire  existed  to  relieve  the  estate 
of  its  incumbrances  and  pay  all  just  claims,  presented  a 
less  threatening  front  than  hitherto,  and  listened  readily  to 
such  terms  of  accommodation  as  were  proposed  to  them. 
Uncle  Robert  (for  the  breaking  of  whose  neck  Ratty's 
pious  aspirations  had  been  raised)  behaved  very  well  on 
the  occasion.  A loan  from  him,  and  a partial  sale  of  some 
of  the  acres,  stopped  the  mouths  of  the  greedy  wolves  who 
fatten  on  men's  ruin,  and  time  and  economy  were  looked 
forward  to  for  the  discharge  of  all  other  debts.  Uncle 
Robert,  having  so  far  acted  the  friend,  was  considered  en- 
titled to  have  a partial  voice  in  the  ordering  of  things  at 
the  Hall;  and  having  a notion  that  an  English  accent  was 
genteel,  he  desired  that  Gusty  and  Ratty  should  pass  a 
year  under  the  roof  of  a clergyman  in  England,  who  re- 
ceived a limited  number  of  young  gentlemen  for  the  com- 
pletion of  their  education.  Grustavus  would  much  rather 
have  remained  near  Edwarc  O'Connor,  who  had  already 
done  so  much  for  him;  but  Edward,  though  he  regretted 
parting  with  Gustavus,  recoi  imended  him  to  accede  to  his 
uncle's  wishes,  though  he  d id  not  see  the  necessity  of  an 
Irish  gentleman  being  ashau  ed  of  his  accent. 

The  visit  to  England,  he  wever,  was  postponed  till  the 
spring,  and  the  winter  mor  ths  were  used  by  Gustavus  in 
availing  himself  as  much  aU^e  could  of  Edward's  assist- 
ance in  putting  him  througlrois  classics,  his  pride  prompt- 
ing him  to  present  himself  c /editably  to  the  English  clergy- 
man. 

It  was  in  vain  to  plead  mch  pride  to  Ratty,  who  paid 
more  attention  to  shooting  rhan  his  lessons.  His  mother 
strove  to  persuade — Ratty  was  deaf.  His  “ gran  " strove 
to  bribe — Ratty  was  incorruptible.  Gusty  argued — Ratty 
answered  after  his  own  fashion. 

“ Why  won't  you  learn  even  a little?" 

“ I'm  to  go  to  that  ‘ English  fellow 9 in  spring,  and  I 
shall  have  no  fun  then,  so  I'm  making  good  use  of  my  time 
£QW.” 


u Do  you  cal!  it c good  use 9 to  be  so  dreadfully  idle  and 
shamefully  ignorant?” 

“ Bother!  the  less  I know,  the  more  the  English  fellow 
will  have  to  teach  me,  and  Uncle  Bob  will  have  more 
worth  for  his  money;”  and  then  Ratty  would  whistle  a jig, 
fling  a fowling-piece  over  his  shoulder,  and  shout  6 4 Ponto! 
Ponto!  Ponto!”  as  he  traversed  the  stable-yard;  the  de- 
lighted pointer  would  come  bounding  at  the  call,  and,  after 
circling  round  his  young  master  with  agile  grace  and  yelps 
of  glee  at  the  sight  of  the  gun,  dash  forward  to  the  well- 
known  “ bottoms  99  in  eager  expectancy  of  ducks  and 
snipe. 

How  fared  it  all  this  time  with  the  Lord  of  Scatterbrain? 
He  became  established,  for  the  present,  in  a house  that  had 
been  a long  time  to  let  in  the  neighborhood,  and  his 
mother  was  placed  a;t  the  head  of  it,  and  Oonah  still  re- 
mained under  his  protection,  though  the  daily  sight  of  the 
girl  added  to  Andy's  grief  at  the  desperate  plight  in  which 
his  ill-starred  marriage  placed  him,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
constant  annoyance  of  his  mother's  growling  at  him  for  his 
making  “ such  a judy  of  himself;"  for  the  dowager  Lady 
Scatterbrain  could  not  get  rid  of  her  vocabulary  at  once. 
Andy's  only  resource  under  these  circumstances  was  to 
mount  his  horse  and  fly. 

As  for  the  dowager  Lady  Scatterbrain,  she  had  a car- 
riage with  “a  picture”  on  it,  as  she  called  the  coat-of- 
arms,  and  was  fond  of  driving  past  the  houses  of  people 
who  had  been  uncivil  to  her.  Against  Mrs.  Casey  (the  re- 
nowned Matty  Dwyer)  she  entertained  an  especial  spite,  in 
consideration  of  her  treatment  of  her  beautiful  boy  and  her 
own  pair  of  black  eyes;  so  she  determined  to  “ pay  her 
off  ” in  her  own  way,  and  stopping  one  day  at  the  hole  in 
the  hedge  which  served  for  entrance  to  the  estate  of  the 
“ three-cornered  field,”  she  sent  the  footman  in  to  say  the 
dowjer  Lady  Se&tteicbreen  wanted  to  speak  with  “ Casey's 
wife. 99 

When  the  servant,  according  to  instructions,  delivered 
this  message,  he  was  sent  back  with  the  answer,  “ that  if 
any  lady  wanted  to  see  Casey's  wife,  ‘ Casey's  wife,'  was  at 
home.” 

“ Oh,  go  back,  and  tell  the  poor  woman  I don't  want  tc 
bring  her  to  the  door  of  my  carriage,  if  it's  inconvaynient. 
I only  wished  to  give  her  a little  help;  and  tell  her  if  she 


fiANDt  AOTrr. 


sends  up  eggs  to  the  big  house.  Lady  Scatterbreen  will  pay 
her  for  them. 99 

When  the  servant  delivered  this  message,  Matty  grew 
outrageous  at  the  means  6 4 my  lady  99  took  of  crowing  over 
her,  and  rushing  to  the  door,  with  her  face  flushed  with 
rage,  roared  out,  44  Tell  the  baggage  I want  none  of  her 
custom;  let  her  lay  eggs  for  herself. 99 

The  servant  staggered  back  in  amaze;  and  Matty, 
feeling  he  would  not  deliver  her  message,  ran  to  the  hole  in 
the  hedge  and  repeated  her  answer  to  my  lady  herself, 
with  a great  deal  more  which  need  not  be  recorded.  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  my  lady  thought  it  necessary  to  pull  up  the 
glass,  against  which  Matty  threw  a handful  of  mud";  the 
servant  jumped  up  on  his  perch  behind  the  carriage, 
which  was  rapidly  driven  away  by  the  coachman,  but  not 
so  fast  that  Matty  could  not,  by  dint  of  running,  keep  it 
44  within  range 99  for  some  seconds,  during  which  time  she 
contrived  to  pelt  both  coachman  and  footman  with  mud, 
and  leave  her  mark  on  their  new  livery.  This  was  a salu- 
tary warning  to  the  old  woman,  who  was  more  cautious  in 
her  demonstrations  of  grandeur  for  the  future.  If  she 
was  stinted  in  the  enjoyment^of  her  new-born  dignity 
abroad,  she  could  indulge  it  at  home  without  let  or  hin- 
derance,  and  to  this  end  asked  Andy  to  let  her  have  a hun- 
dred pounds,  in  one-pound  notes,  for  a particular  purpose. 
What  this  purpose  was  no  one  was  told  or  could  guess,  but 
for  a good  while  after  she  used  to  be  closeted  by  herself  for 
several  hours  during  the  day. 

Andy  had  his  hours  of  retirement  also,  for  with  praise- 
worthy industry  he  strove  hard,  poor  fellow,  to  lift  him- 
self above  the  state  of  ignorance,  and  had  daily  attendance 
from  the  parish  school-master.  The  mysteries  of  pothooks 
and  hangers  and  ABC  weighed  heavily  on  the  nobleman’s 
mind,  which  must  have  sunk  under  the  burden  of  scholar- 
ship and  penmanship,  but  for  the  other  44  ship*” — the 
horsemanship — which  was  Andy’s  daily  self-established  re- 
ward for  his  perseverance  in  his  lessons.  Besides,  he  really 
could  ride;  and  as  it  was  the  only  accomplishment  of  which 
he  was  master,  it  was  no  wonder  he  enjoyed  the  display  of 
it;  and,,  to  say  the  truth,  he  did,  and  that  on  a first-rate 
horse  too.  Having  appointed  Murtough  Murphy  his  law- 
agent,  he  often  rode  over  to  the  town  to  talk  with  him, 
and  as  Murtough  could  have  some  fun  and  thirteen  and 


HAttDY  AKD*. 


475 

fourpence  also  per  visit,  he  was  always  glad  to  see  his 
“ noble  friend.”  The  high-road  did  not  suit  Andy's  notion 
of  things;  he  preferred  the  variety,  shortness,  and  diver- 
sion of  going  across  the  country  on  these  occasions;  and  in 
one  of  these  excursions,  in  the  most  secluded  portion  of  his 
ride,  which  unavoidably  lay  through  some  quarries  and 
deep  broken  ground,  he  met  “ Ragged  Nance, " who  held 
up  her  finger  as  he  approached  the  gorge  of  this  lonely  dell, 
in  token  that  she  would  speak  with  him.  Andy  pulled  up. 

“ Long  life  to  you,  my  lord,”  said  Nance,  dropping  a 
deep  courtesy,  “ and  sure  I always  liked  you  since  the  night 
you  was  so  bowld  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  girl — the  young 
lady,  I mane,  now,  God  bless  her — and  I just  wish  to  tell  you, 
my  lord,  that  I think  you  might  as  well  not  be  going  these 
lonely  ways,  for  I see  them  hanging  about  here  betimes, 
that  may  be  it  would  not  be  good  for  your  health  to  meet; 
and  sure,  my  lord,  it  would  be  a hard  case  if  you  were 
killed  now,  havin'  the  luck  of  the  sick  calf  that  lived  all 
the  winther  and  died  in  the  summer.” 

44  Is  it  that  big  blackguard,  Shan  More,  you  mane?” 
said  Andy. 

“ No  less,”  said  Nance — growing  deadly  pale  as  she  cast 
a piercing  glance  into  the  dell,  and  cried,  in  a low,  hurried 
tone — “ Talk  of  the  divil — and  there  he  is— I see  him  peep 
out  from  behind  a rock.  ” 

“ He's  running  this  way,''  said  Andy. 

“ Then  you  run  the  other  way,''  said  Nance;  “look 
there— I seen  him  strive  to  hide  a blunderbuss  under  his 
coat — gallop  off,  for  the  love  o'  God!  or  there'll  be  mur- 
ther.” 

“Maybe  there  will  be  that  same,”  said  Andy,  “if  I 
leave  you  here,  and  he  suspects  you  gave  me  the  hard 
word.”* 

“Never  mind  me,”  said  Nance,  “ save  yourself — see, 
he's  moving  fast,  he'll  be  near  enough  to  you  soon  to  fire.” 

“ Get  up  behind  me,”  said  Andy;  “ I won't  leave  you 
here.  ’ ' 

“ Run,  I tell  you.” 

“ I won't.” 

“ God  bless  you,  then,”  said  the  woman,  as  Andy  held 
out  his  hand  and  gripped  hers  firmly. 


* “ Hard  word  ” implies  a caution. 


m 


tTAiNjjiT  A^Ui. 


Put  your  foot  on  mine,”  said  Andy. 

The  woman  obeyed,  and  was  soon  seated  behind  our  hero, 
gripping  him  fast  by  the  waist,  while  he  pushed  his  horse 
to  a fast  canter. 

“ Hold  hard  now,”  said  Andy,  “ for  there's  a stiff  jump 
here.”  As  he  approached  the  ditch  of  which  bespoke, 
two  men  sprung  up  from  it,  and  one  fired,  as  Andy  cleared 
the  leap  in  good  style,  Nance  holding  on  gallantly.  The 
horse  was  not  many  strokes  on  the  opposite  side,  when 
another  shot  was  fired  in  their  rear,  followed  by  a scream 
from  the  woman.  To  Andy's  inquiry,  if  she  was  “ kilt,” 
she  replied  in  the  negative,  but  said  “ they  hurt  her  sore,” 
and  she  was  “ bleeding  a power;”  but  that  she  could  still 
hold  on,  however,  and  urged  him  to  speed.  The  clearance 
of  one  or  two  more  leaps  gave  her  grievous  pain;  but  a 
large  common  soon  opened  before  them,  which  was  skirted 
by  a road  leading  directly  to  a farm-house,  where  Andy  left 
the  wounded  woman,  and  then  galloped  off  for  medical 
aid;  this  soon  arrived,  and  the  wound  was  found  not  to  be 
dangerous,  though  painful.  The  bullet  had  struck  and 
pierced  a tin  vessel  of  a bottle  form,  in  which  Nance  carried 
the  liquid  gratuities  of  the  charitable,  and  this  not  only 
deadened  the  force  of  the  ball,  but  glanced  it  also;  and 
the  escapement  of  the  butter-milk,  which  the  vessel  con- 
tained, Nance  had  mistaken  for  the  effusion  of  her  own 
blood.  It  was  a clear  case,  however,  that  if  Nance  had 
not  been  sitting  behind  Andy,  Lord  Scatterbrain  would 
have  been  a dead  man,  so  that  his  gratitude  and  gallantry 
toward  the  poor  beggar  woman  proved  the  means  of  pre- 
serving his  own  life. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

The  news  of  the  attack  on  Lord  Scatterbrain  ran  over 
the  country  like  wildfire,  and  his  conduct  throughout  the 
affair  raised  his  character  wonderfully  in  the  opinion  of  all 
classes.  Many  who  had  hitherto  held  aloof  from  the  mush- 
room lord,  came  forward  to  recognize  the  manly  fellow, 
and  cards  were  left  at  “ the  big  house,”  which  were  never 
seen  there  before.  The  magistrates  were  active  in  the 
affair,  and  a reward  was  immediately  offered  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  offenders;  but  before  any  active  steps 
could  be  taken  by  the  authorities,  Andy,  immediately  after 


HANDY  ANDY. 


477 


the  attack,  collected  a few  stout  fellows  himself,  and  know- 
ing where  the  den  of  Shan  and  his  miscreants  lay,  he  set 
off  at  the  head  of  his  party  to  try  if  he  could  not  secure 
them  himself;  but  before  he  did  this,  he  dispatched  a ve- 
hicle to  the  farm-house,  where  poor  Nance  lay  wounded, 
with  orders  that  she  should  be  removed  to  his  own  house, 
the  doctor  having  said  that  the  transit  would  not  be  inju- 
rious. 

A short  time  served  to  bring  Andy  and  his  followers  to 
the  private  still,  where  a little  looking  about  enabled  them 
to  discover  the  entrance,  which  was  covered  by  some  large 
stones,  and  a bunch  of  furze  placed  as  a mask  to  the  open- 
ing. It  was  clear  that  it  was  impossible  for  any  persons 
inside  to  have  thus  covered  the  entrance,  and  it  suggested 
the  possibility  that  some  of  its  usual  inmates  were  then  ab- 
sent. Nevertheless,  having  such  desperate  characters  to 
deal  with,  it  was  a service  of  danger  to  be  leader  in  the  de- 
scent to  the  cavern  when  the  opening  was  cleared;  but 
Andy  was  the  first  to  enter,  which  he  did  boldly,  only  de- 
siring his  attendants  to  follow  him  quickly,  and  give  him 
support  in  case  of  resistance.  A lantern  had  been  provided, 
Andy  knowing  the  darkness  of  the  den;  and  the  party 
was  thereby  enabled  to  explore  with  celerity  and.  certainty 
the  hidden  haunt  of  the  desperadoes.  The  ashes  of  the  fire 
were  yej;  warm,  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen,  till  Andy,  draw- 
ing the  screen  of  the  bed,  discovered  a man  lying  in  a 
seemingly  helpless  state,  breathing  with  difficulty,  and  the 
straw  about  him  dabbled  with  blood.  On  attempting  to 
lift  him,  the  wretch  groaned  heavily  and  muttered,  “ L) — n 
you,  let  me  alone — youVe  done  for  me — Pm  dying.  ” 

The  man  was  gently  carried  from  the  cave  to  the  open 
air,  which  seemed  slightly  to  revive  him.  His  eyes  opened 
heavily,  but  closed  again;  yet  still  he  breathed.  His  wounds 
were  stanched  as  well  as  the  limited  means  and  knowl- 
edge of  the  parties  present  allowed;  and  the  ladder,  drawn 
up  from  the  cave  and  overlaid  with  tufts  of  heather,  served 
to  bear  the  sufferer  to  the  nearest  house,  whence  Andy 
ordered  a mounted  messenger  to  hurry  for  a doctor.  The 
man  seemed  to  hear  what  was  going  forward,  for  he  faintly 
muttered,  “ the  priest — the  priest.” 

Andy,  anxious  to  procure  this  most  essential  comfort  to 
the  dying  man,  went  himself  in  Search  of  Father  Blake, 
Whom  he  found  at  home,  and  who  suggested  that  a mag- 


478 


HANDY  ANDY. 


istrate  might  be  also  useful  upon  the  occasion;  andasMer- 
ryvale  lay  not  much  out  of  the  way,  Andy  made  a detour 
to  obtain  the  presence  of  Squire  Egan,  while  Father  Blake 
pushed  directly  onward  upon  his  ghostly  mission. 

Andy  and  the  Squire  arrived  soon  after  the  priest  had 
administered  spiritual  comfort  to  the  sufferer,  who  still  re- 
tained sufficient  strength  to  make  his  depositions  before 
the  Squire,  the  purport  of  which  turned  out  to  be  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  Andy. 

This  man,  it  appeared,  was  the  husband  o f Bridget , who 
had  returned  from  transportation,  and  sought  his  wife  and 
her  dear  brother,  and  his  former  lawless  associates,  on 
reaching  Ireland.  On  finding  Bridget  had  married  again, 
his  anger  at  her  infidelity  was  endeavored  to  be  appeased 
by  the  representations  made  to  him  that  it  was  a “ good 
job/*  inasmuch  as  cc  the  lord  **  had  been  screwed  out  of  a 
good  sum  of  money  by  way  of  separate  maintenance,  and 
that  he  would  share  the  advantage  of  that.  When  mat- 
ters were  more  explained,  however,  and  the  convict  found 
this  money  was  divided  among  so  many,  who  all  claimed 
right  of  share  in  the  plunder,  his  discontent  returned.  In 
the  first  place,  the  pettifogger  made  a large  haul  for  his 
services.  Shan  More  swore  it  was  hard  if  a womans  own 
brother  was  not  to  be  the  better  for  her  luck;  and  Larry 
Logan  claimed  hush-money,  for  he  could  prove  Bridget's 
marriage,  and  so  upset  their  scheme  of  plunder.  The  con- 
vict maintained  his  claim  as  husband  was  stronger  than 
any;  but  this,  all  the  others  declared,  was  an  outlandish 
notion  he  brought  back  with  him  from  foreign  parts,  and 
did  not  prevail  in  their  code  of  laws  by  any  manner  o* 
means,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  they  thought  it  hard, 
after  they  had  “ done  the  job/*  that  he  was  to  come  in  and 
lessen  their  profit,  which  he  would,  as  they  were  willing  to 
give  an  even  share  of  the  spoil;  and  after  that,  he  must  be 
the  most  discontented  villain  in  the  world  if  he  was  not 
pleased. 

The  convict  feigned  contentment,  but  meditated  at  once 
revenge  against  his  wife  and  the  gang,  and  separate  profit 
for  himself.  He  thought  he  might  stipulate  for  a good 
round  sum  from  Lord  Scatterbrain,  as  he  could  prove  him 
free  of  his  supposed  matrimonial  engagement,  and  inward- 
ly resolved  he  would  soon  pay  a visit  to  his  lordship.  But 
uis  intentions  were  suspected  by  the  gang,  and  a strict 


HANDY  ANDY. 


479 


watch  kept  upon  him;  and  though  his  dissimulation  and 
contrivance  were  of  no  inferior  order,  Larry  Hogan  was  his 
overmatch,  and  the  convict  was  detected  in  having  been  so 
near  Lord  Scatterbrain's  dwelling,  that  they  feared  their 
secret,  if  not  already  revealed,  was  no  longer  to  be  trusted 
to  their  new  confederate's  keeping;  and  it  was  deemed  ad- 
visable to  knock  him  on  the  head,  and  shoot  my  lord, 
which  they  thought  would  prevent  all  chance  of  the  inva- 
lidity of  the  marriage  being  discovered,  and  secure  the 
future  payment  of  the  maintenance. 

How  promptly  the  murderous  determination  was  acted 
upon,  the  preceding  events  prove.  Andy's  courage  in  the 
first  part  of  the  affair  saved  his  life;  his  promptness  in 
afterward  seeking  to  secure  the  offenders  led  to  the  im- 
portant discovery  he  had  just  made;  and  as  the  convict's 
depositions  could  be  satisfactorily  backed  by  proofs  which 
he  showed  the  means  of  obtaining,  Andy  was  congratulated 
heartily  by  the  Squire  and  Father  Blake,  and  rode  home  in 
almost  delirious  delight  at  the  prospect  of  making  Oonah 
his  wife.  On  reaching  the  stables,  he  threw  himself  from 
his  saddle,  let  the  horse  make  his  own  way  to  his  stall, 
dashed  through  the  back  hall,  and  nearly  broke  his  neck  in 
tumbling  upstairs,  burst  open  the  drawing-room  door,  and 
made  a rush  upon  Oonah,  whom  he  hugged  and  kissed 
most  outrageously,  amidst  exclamations  of  the  wildest  affec- 
tion. 

Oonah,  half  strangled  and  struggling  for  breath,  at  last 
freed  herself  from  his  embraces,  and  asked  him,  angrily, 
what  he  was  about — in  which  inquiry  she  was  backed  by  his 
mother. 

Andy  answered  by  capering  round  the  room,  shouting, 
“ Hurroo!  I'm  not  married  at  all — hurroo!"  He  turned 
over  the  chairs,  upset  the  tables,  threw  the  mantel-piece 
ornaments  into  the  fire,  seized  the  poker  and  tongs,  and 
banged  them  together  as  he  continued  dancing  and  shout- 
ing. 

Oonah  and  his  mother  stood  gazing  at  his  antics  in 
trembling  amazement,  till  at  last  the  old  woman  ex- 
claimed, “Holy  Vargin!  he's  gone  mad!"  whereupon  she 
and  her  niece  set  up  a violent  screaming,  which  called 
Andy  back  to  his  propriety,  and,  as  well  as  his  excitement 
would  permit,  he  told  them  the  cause  of  his  extravagant 
jo y.  His  wonder  and  delight  were  shared  by  his  mother 


480 


HANDY  ANDY. 


and  the  blushing  Oonah,  who  did  not  struggle  so  hard  in 
Andy*s  embrace  on  his  making  a second  vehement  demon- 
stration of  his  love  for  her. 

“ Let  me  send  for  Father  Blake,  my  jewel,”  said  Andy, 
“ an*  Fll  marry  you  at  once.** 

His  mother  reminded  him  he  must  first  have  his  present 
marriage  proved  invalid.  Andy  uttered  several  pieces  of 
original  eloquence  on  “ the  law* s delay.**  “ Well,  any- 
how,** said  he,  “ 1*11  drink  your  health,  my  darling  girl, 
this  day,  as  Lady  Scatterbrain — for  you  must  consider 
yourself  as  sitch.** 

“ Behave  yourself,  my  lord,**  said  Oonah,  archly. 

“ Bother!**  cried  Andy,  snatching  another  kiss. 

“ Hillo!**  cried  Dick  Dawson,  entering  at  the  moment, 
and  seeing  the  romping- match.  “ You*re  losing  no  time, 
I see,  Andy.** 

Oonah  was  running  from  the  room,  laughing  and  blush- 
ing, when  Dick  interposed,  and  cried,  “ Ah,  don*t  go,  * my 
lady,  * that  is  to  be . ** 

Oonah  slapped  down  the  hand  that  barred  her  progress, 
exclaiming,  t£  You*re  just  as  bad  as  he  is.  Mister  Daw- 
son!**  and  ran  away. 

Dick  had  ridden  over,  on  hearing  the  news,  to  congratu- 
late Andy,  and  consented  to  remain  and  dine  with  him. 
Oonah  had  rather,  after  what  had  taken  place,  he  had  not 
been  there,  for  Dick  backed  Andy  in  his  tormenting  the 
girl  and  joined  heartily  in  drinking  to  Andy*s  toast,  which, 
according  to  promise,  he  gave  to  the  health  of  the  future 
Lady  Scatterbrain. 

It  was  impossible  to  repress  Andy*s  wild  delight;  and  in 
the  excitement  of  the  hour  he  tossed  off  bumper  after  bum- 
per to  all  sorts  of  love-making  toasts,  till  he  was  quite  over- 
come by  his  potations,  and  fit  for  no  place  but  bed.  To 
this  last  retreat  of  “ the  glorious  **  he  was  requested  to  re- 
tire, and,  after  much  coaxing,  consented.  He  staggered 
over  to  the  window-curtain,  which  he  mistook  for  that  of 
the  bed;  in  vain  they  wanted  to  lead  him  elsewhere — he 
would  sleep  in  no  other  bed  but  that — and,  backing  out  at 
the  window-pane,  he  made  a smash,  of  which  he  seemed 
sensible,  for  he  said  it  wasn*t  a fair  trick  to  put  pins  in  the 
bed.  “ I know  it  was  Oonah  did  that! — hip! — ha!  hal 
Lady  Scatterbrain! — never  mind— hip!— 1*11  have  my  re- 
venge on  you  yet!** 


HANDY  ANDY, 


481 


They  could  not  get  him  upstairs,  so  his  mother  suggest- 
ed he  should  sleep  in  lier  room,  which  was  on  the  same 
floor,  for  that  night,  and  at  last  he  was  got  into  the  apart- 
ment. There  he  was  assisted  to  disrobe,  as  he  stood  sway- 
ing about  at  a dressing-table.  Chancing  to  lay  his  hands 
on  a pill-box,  he  mistook  it  for  his  watch. 

“ Stop — stop!”  he  stammered  forth — “ I must  wind  my 
watch;”  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  began 
twisting  about  the  pill-box,  the  lid  of  which  came  off  and 
the  pills  fell  about  the  floor.  “ Oh,  murdher!”  said  Lord 
Scatterbrain,  “ the  works  of  my  watch  are  failin'  about  the 
flure — pick  them  up — pick  them  up — pick  them  up — " 
He  could  speak  no  more,  and  becoming  quite  incapable 
of  all  voluntary  action,  was  undressed  and  put  to  bed,  the 
last  sound  which  escaped  him  being  a faint  muttering — 
“ pick  them  up.” 


CHAPTEE  THE  LAST. 

The  day  following  the  eventful  one  just  recorded,  the 
miserable  convict  breathed  his  last.  A printed  notice  was 
posted  in  all  the  adjacent  villages,  offering  a reward  for 
the  apprehension  of  Shan  More  and  “ other  persons  un- 
known," for  their  murderous  assault;  and  a small  reward 
was  promised  for  such  “ private  information  as  might  lead 
to  the  apprehension  of  the  aforesaid,”  etc.,  etc.  Larry 
Hogan  at  once  came  forward  and  put  the  authorities  on 
the  scent,  but  still  Shan  and  his  accomplices  remained  un- 
discovered. Larry’s  information  on  another  subject,  how- 
ever, was  more  effective.  He  gave  his  own  testimony  to 
the  previous  marriage  of  Bridget,  and  pointed  out  the 
means  of  obtaining  more,  so  that,  ere  long.  Lord  Scatter- 
brain was  a “ free  man.”  Though  the  depositions  of  the 
murdered  man  did  not  directly  implicate  Larry  in  the  mur- 
derous attack,  still  it  showed  that  he  had  participated  in 
much  of  their  villainy;  but,  as  in  difficult  cases,  we  must 
put  up  with  bad  instruments  to  reach  the  ends  of  justice, 
so  this  rascal  was  useful  for  his  evidence  and  private  infor- 
mation, and  got  his  reward. 

But  he  got  his  reward  in  more  ways  than  one.  He  knew 
that  he  dare  not  longer  remain  in  the  country  after  what 
had  taken  place,  and  set  off  directly  for  Dublin  by  the 
mail,  intending  to  proceed  to  England;  but  England  he 


482 


HANDY  ANDY, 


never  reached.  As  he  was  proceeding  down  the  Custom^ 
house  quay  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  to  get  on  ship- 
board, his  arms  were  suddenly  seized  and  drawn  behind 
him  by  a powerful  grasp,  while  a woman  in  front  drew  a 
handkerchief  across  his  mouth,  and  stifled  his  attempted 
cries.  His  bundle  was  dragged  from  him,  and  the  woman 
ransacked  his  pockets;  but  they  contained  but  a few  shil- 
lings, Larry  having  hidden  the  wages  of  his  treachery  to  his 
confederates  in  the  folds  of  his  neck-cloth.  To  pluck  this 
from  his  throat,  many  a fierce  wrench  was  made  by  the 
woman,  when  her  attempts  on  the  pockets  proved  worth- 
less; but  the  handkerchief  was  knotted  so  tightly  that  she 
oould  not  disengage  it.  The  approach  of  some  passengers 
along  the  quay  alarmed  the  assailants  of  Larry,  who,  ere 
the  iron  grip  released  him,  heard  a deep  curse  in  his  ear 
growled  by  a voice  he  well  knew,  and  then  he  felt  himself 
hurled  with  gigantic  force  from  the  quay  wall.  Before  the 
base,  cheating,  faithless  scoundrel  could  make  one  excla- 
mation, he  was  plunged  into  the  Liffey — even  before  one 
mental  aspiration  for  mercy,  he  was  in  the  throes  of  suffo- 
cation! The  heavy  splash  in  the  water  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  those  whose  approach  had  alarmed  the  murderers, 
and  seeing  a man  and  woman  running,  a pursuit  com- 
menced, which  ended  by  Newgate  having  two  fresh  ten- 
ants the  next  day. 

And  so  farewell  to  the  entire  of  the  abominable  crew, 
whose  evil  doings  and  merited  fates  have  only  been  record- 
ed when  it  became  necessary  to  our  story.  It  is  better  to 
leave  the  debased  and  the  profligate  in  oblivion  than  drag 
their  doings  before  the  day;  and  it  is  with  happy  conscious- 
ness an  Irishman  may  assert,  that  there  is  plenty  of  subject 
afforded  by  Irish  character  and  Irish  life  honorable  to  the 
land,  pleasing  to  the  narrator,  and  sufficiently  attractive  to 
the  reader,  without  the  unwholesome  exaggerations  of 
crime  which  too  often  disfigure  the  fictions  which  pass 
under  the  title  of  “ Irish,”  alike  offensive  to  truth  as  to 
taste — alike  injurious  both  for  private  and  public  consider- 
ations. 

******* 

it  was  in  the  following  autumn  that  a particular  chariot 
drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  Victoria  Hotel,  on  the  shore  of 
Eillarney  lake.  A young  man  of  elegant  bearing  handed 
ft  very  charming  young  lady  from  the  chariot;  and  that 


HARDY  AHDY. 


483 

kindest  and  most  accommodating  of  hostesses,  Mrs.  F , 

welcomed  the  fresh  arrival  with  her  good-humored  and 
smiling  face. 

Why,  amidst  the  crowd  of  arrivals  at  the  Victoria,  one 
chariot  should  be  remarkable  beyond  another,  arose  from 
its  quiet  elegance,  which  might  strike  even  a casual  ob- 
server; but  the  intelligent  Mrs.  F saw  with  half  an  eye 

the  owners  must  be  high-bred  people.  To  the  apartments 
already  engaged  for  them  they  were  shown;  but  few  min- 
uses we  re  lost  within  doors  where  such  matchless  natural 
beauty  tempted  them  without.  A boat  was  immediately 
ordered,  and  then  the  newly  arrived  visitors  were  soon  on 
the  lake.  The  boatmen  had  already  worked  hard  that  day, 
having  pulled  one  party  completely  round  the  lakes — no 
trihing  task:  but  the  hardy  fellows  again  bent  to  their  oars, 
and  made  the  sleeping  waters  wake  in  golden  flashes  to  the 
sunset,  till  told  they  need  not  pull  so  hard. 

44  Faith,  then,  weMl  plaze  you,  sir,”  said  the  stroke-oars- 
man, with  a grin,  44  for  we  have  had  quite  enough  of  it  to- 
day.” 

44  Do  you  not  think,  Fanny, ” said  Edward  O’Connor, 
for  it  was  he  who  spoke  to  his  bride,  44  d©  you  not  think 
’tis  more  in  unison  with  the  tranquil  hour  and  the  coming 
shadows,  to  glide  softly  over  the  lulled  waters?” 

44  Yes/’  she  replied,  44  it  seems  almost  sacrilege  to  dis- 
turb this  heavenly  repose  by  the  slightest  dip  of  the  oar- 
see  how  perfectly  that  lovely  island  is  reflected.  ” 

44  That  is  Innisf alien,  my  lady,”  said  the  boatman,  hear- 
ing her  allude  to  the  island,  64  where  the  hermitage  is.” 
As  he  spoke,  a gleam  of  light  sparkled  on  the  island,  which 
was  reflected  on  the  water. 

44  One  might  think  the  hermit  was  there  too,”  said 
Fanny,  44  and  had  just  lighted  a lamp  for  his  vigils.” 

44  That’s  the  light  of  the  guide  that  shows  the  place  to 
the  quality,  my  lady,  and  lives  on  the  island  always  in  a 
corner  of  the  ould  ruin.  And,  indeed,  if  you’d  like  to  see 
the  island  this  evening,  there’s  time  enough,  and  ’twould 
be  so  much  saved  out  of  to-morrow.” 

The  boatman’s  advice  was  acted  upon,  and  as  they  glid- 
ed toward  the  island,  Fanny  and  Edward  gazed  delightedly 
on  the  towering  summits  of  Magillicuddy’s  reeks,  whose 
spiral  pinnacles  and  graceful  declivities  told  out  sharply 
against  the  golden  sky  behind  them,  which,  being  perfectly 


484 


HANDY  ANDY. 


reflected  in  the  calm  lake,  gave  a grand  chain  of  mountain 
the  appearance  of  being  suspended  in  glowing  heather,  for 
the  lake  was  one  bright  amber  sheet  of  light  below,  and 
the  mountains  one  massive  barrier  of  shade,  till  they  cot 
against  the  light  above.  The  boat  touched  the  shore  of 
Xnnisfallen,  and  the  delighted  pair  of  visitants  hurried  to  its 
western  point  to  catch  the  sunset,  lighting  with  its  glory 
the  matchless  foliage  of  this  enchanting  spot,  where  every 
form  of  grace  exhaustless  nature  can  display  is  lavished  on 
the  arborial  richness  of  the  scene,  which,  in  its  unequaled 
luxuriance,  gives  to  a fanciful  beholder  the  idea  that  the 
trees  themselves  have  a conscious  pleasure  in  growing  there . 
Oh!  what  a witching  spot  is  Innisf alien! 

Edward  had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  in  his  life; 
and  with  the  woman  he  adored  resting  on  his  arm,  he 
quoted  the  lines  which  Moore  has  applied  to  the  Yale  of 
Cashmere,  as  he  asked  Fanny  would  she  not  like  to  live 
there. 

“ Would  you?”  said  Fanny. 

Edward  answered — 

“ If  woman  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear, 

Think — think  what  a heaven  she  must  make  of  Cashmere.* 

They  lingered  on  the  island  till  the  moon  arose,  and  then 
re-embarked.  The  silvery  light  exhibited  the  lake  under 
another  aspect,  and  the  dimly" discovered  forms  of  the  lofty 
hills  rose  one  above  another,  tier  upon  tier-  circling  the 
waters  in  their  shadowy  frame,  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
reached  a point  of  sublimity  which  might  be  called  holy. 
As  they  returned  toward  the  shelving  strand,  a long  row  of 

5>eeled  branches,  standing  upright  in  the  water,  attracted 
fanny’s  attention,  and  she  asked  their  use. 

“ All  the  use  in  life,  my  lady,”  said  the  boatman,  €S  for 
without  the  same  branches,  may  be  it's  not  home  to-night 
you'd  get.” 

On  Fanny  inquiring  further  the  meaning  of  the  boat- 
man's answer,  she  learned  that  the  sticks  were  placed  there 
to  indicate  the  only  channel  which  permitted  a boat  to  ap- 
proach the  shore  on  that  side  of  the  lake,  where  the  water 
was  shoal,  while  in  other  parts  the  depth  had  never  been 
fathomed. 

An  early  excursion  on  the  water  was  planned  for  the 
morning,  and  Edward  and  Fanny  were  wakened  from  their 


HANDY  ANDY. 


485 


slumbers  by  the  tones  of  the  bugle;  a soft  Irish  melody 
being  breathed  by  Spillan,  followed  by  a more  sportive  one 
from  the  other  minstrel  of  Ihe  lake,  Ganzy. 

The  lake  now  appeared  u ader  another  aspect — the  morn- 
ing sun  and  morning  breeze  were  upon  it,  and  the  sublim- 
ity with  which  the  shades  of  evening  had  invested  the 
mountains  was  changed  to  that  of  the  most  varied  richness; 
for  Autumn  hung  out  his  gaudy  banner  on  the  lofty  hills, 
crowned  to  their  summits  with  all  variety  of  wood,  which, 
though  tinged  by  the  declin  ng  year,  had  scarcely  shed  one 
leafy  honor.  The  day  was  glorious,  and  the  favoring 
breeze  enabled  the  boat  to  career  across  the  sparkling  lake 
under  canvas,  till  the  overhanging  hills  of  the  opposite  side 
robbed  them  of  their  aerial  wings,  and  the  sail  being 
struck,  the  boatmen  bent  to  their  oars.  As  they  passed 
under  a promontory,  clothed  from  the  waters  edge  to  the 
topmost  ridge  with  the  most  luxuriant  vegetation,  it  was 
pointed  out  to  the  lady  as  66  the  minister's  back." 

'Tis  a strange  name,"  said  Fanny.  46  Do  you  know 
why  it  is  called  so?" 

66  Faix,  I dunna,  my  lady— barrin'  that  it  is  the  best 
covered  back  in  the  country.  But  here  we  come  to  the 
aichos ,"  said  he,  resting  on  his  oars.  The  example  was 
followed  by  his  fellows,  and  the  bugler,  lifting  his  instru- 
ment to  his  lips,  gave  one  long  well-sustained  blast.  It 
rang  across  the  waters  gallantly.  It  returned  in  a few  sec- 
onds with  such  unearthly  sweetness,  as  though  the  spirit  of 
the  departed  sound  had  become  heavenly,  and  revisited  the 
place  where  it  had  expired. 

Fanny  and  Edward  listened  breathlessly. 

The  bugle  gave  its  notes  again  in  the  well-known  “ call," 
and  as  sweetly  as  before  the  notes  were  returned  distinctly. 

And  now  a soft  and  slow  and  simple  melody  stole  from 
the  exquisitely  played  bugle,  and  phrase  after  phrase  was 
echoed  from  the  responding  hills.  How  many  an  emotion 
stirred  within  Edward's  breast,  as  the  melting  music  fell 
upon  his  ear!  In  the  midst  of  matchless  beauties  he  heard 
the  matchless  strains  of  his  native  land,  and  the  echoes  of 
her  old  hills  responding  to  the  triumphs  of  her  old  bards. 
The  air,  too,  bore  with  it  historic  associations;  it  told  a 
tale  of  wrong  and  of  suffering.  The  wrong  has  ceased,  the 
suffering  is  past,  but  the  air  which  records  them  still  lives. 

“ Oh!  triumph  of  the  minstrel!"  exclaimed  Edward  in 


486 


HANDY  ANDY. 


delight.  “ The  tyrant  crumbles  in  his  coffin,  while  tho 
song  of  the  bard  survives!  The  memory  of  a sceptered 
ruffian  is  endlessly  branded  by  a simple  strain,  while  many 
of  the  elaborate  chronicles  of  his  evil  life  have  passed  away 
and  are  moldering  like  himself. 

Scarcely  had  the  echoes  of  this  exquisite  air  died  away, 
when  the  enhancement  it  carried  was  rudely  broken  by 
one  of  the  vulgarest  tunes  being  brayed  from  a bugle  in  a 
boat  which  was  seen  rounding  the  headland  of  the  wooded 
promontory. 

Edward  and  Fanny  writhed,  and  put  their  hands  to  their 
ears.  “ Give  way,  boys!”  said  Edward;  “for  pity's  sake 
get  away  from  these  barbarians.  Give  way!” 

Away  sprung  the  boat.  To  the  boatman's  inquiry 
whether  they  should  stop  at  “ Lady  Kenmare's  Cottage,” 
Fanny  said  “ no,”  when  she  found  on  inquiry  it  was  a par- 
ticularly “ show-place,”  being  certain  the  vulgar  party  fol- 
lowing would  stop  there,  and  therefore  time  might  be 
gained  in  getting  away  from  such  disagreeable  followers. 

Dinas  Island,  fringed  with  its  lovely  woods,  excited  their 
admiration,  as  they  passed  underneath  its  shadows,  and 
turned  into  Turk  Lake;  here  the  labyrinthine  nature  of  the 
channels  through  which  they  had  been  winding  was 
changed  for  a circular  expanse  of  water,  over  which  the 
lofty  mountain,  whence  it  takes  its  name,  towers  in  all  its 
wild  beauty  of  wood,  and  rock,  and  heath. 

At  a certain  part  of  the  lake,  the  boatmen,  without  any 
visible  cause,  rested  on  their  oars.  On  Edward  asking 
them  why  they  did  not  pull,  he  received  this  touching  an- 
swer:— 

“ Sure,  your  honor  would  not  have  us  disturb  Ned 
Macarthy's  grave!” 

“ Then  a boatman  was  drowned  here,  I suppose?”  said 
Edward. 

“ Yes,  your  honor.”  The  boatman  then  told  how  the 
accident  occurred  “ one  day  when  there  was  a stag-hunt  on 
the  lake;”  but  as  the  anecdote  struck  Edward  so  forcibly 
that  he  afterward  recorded  it  in  verse,  we  will  give  the 
etory  after  his  fashion. 

MACARTHY’S  GRAVE. 

i. 

The  breeze  was  /resh,  the  moon  was  fair. 

The  stag  had  left  his  dewy  lair; 


HAiSDY  AKDY. 


m 


To  cheering  horn  and  baying  tongue, 
Killarney’s  echoes  sweetly  rung. 

With  sweeping  oar  and  bending  mast. 
The  eager  chase  was  following  fast; 
When  one  light  skiff  a maiden  steer’d 
Beneath  the  deep  wave  disappear’d: 
Wild  shouts  of  terror  widely  ring, 

A boatman  brave,  with  gallant  spring 
And  dauntless  arm,  the  lady  bore; 

But  he  who  saved— - was  seen  no  morel 


ii. 

Where  weeping  birches  wildly  wave, 

There  boatmen  show  their  brother  s graVOf 
And  while  they  tell  the  name  he  bore. 

Suspended  hangs  the  lifted  oar; 

The  silent  drops  they  idly  shed 
Seem  like  tears  to  gallant  Ned; 

And  while  gently  gliding  by, 

The  tale  is  told  with  moisten’d  eya 
No  ripple  on  the  slumb’ring  lake 
Unhallow’d  oar  doth  ever  make; 

All  undisturb’d  the  placid  wave 
Flows  gently  o’er  Macarthy’s  grave. 

Winding  backward  through  the  channels  which  lead  the 
explorers  of  this  scene  of  nature's  enchantment  from  the 
lower  to  the  upper  lake,  the  sui^passing  beauty  of  the 
“ Eagle's  nest  " burst  on  their  view;  and  as  they  hovered 
under  its  stupendous  crags,  clustering  with  all  variety  of 
verdure,  the  bugle  and  the  cannon  awoke  the  almost  end- 
less reverberation  of  sound  which  is  engendered  here. 
Passing  onward,  a sudden  change  is  wrought;  the  soft 
beauty  melts  gradually  away,  and  the  scene  hardens  into 
frowning  rocks  and  steep  acclivities,  making  a befitting 
vestibule  to  the  bold  and  bleak  precipices  of  “ The  Peeks," 
which  form  the  western  barrier  of  this  upper  lake,  whose 
savage  grandeur  is  rendered  more  striking  by  the  scenes  of 
fairy-like  beauty  left  behind.  But  even  here,  in  the  midst 
of  the  mightiest  desolation,  the  vegetative  vigor  of  the 
numerous  islands  proves  the  wondrous  productiveness  of 
the  soil  in  these  regions.  On  their  return,  a great  commo- 
tion was  observable  as  they  approached  the  rapids  formed 
by  the  descending  waters  of  the  upper  lake  to  the  lower, 
and  they  were  hailed  and  warned  by  some  of  the  peasants 
from  the  shore  that  they  must  not  attempt  the  rapids  at 
present,  as  a boat,  which  had  just  been  upset,  lay  athwart 


488 


RAtftrr  AHD¥. 


the  passage.  On  hearing  th  is,  Edward  and  Fanny  landed 
upon  the  falls,  and  walked  toward  the  old  bridge,  where  all 
was  bustle  and  confusion,  at  the  dripping  passengers  were 
dragged  safely  to  shore  from  the  capsized  boat,  which  had 
been  upset  by  the  principal : gentleman  of  the  party,  whose 
vulgar  trumpetings  had  so  d sturbed  the  deligfit  of  Edward 
and  Fanny,  who  soon  recogn  ized  the  renowned  Andy  as  the 
instigator  of  the  bad  music  and  the  cause  of  the  accident. 
Yes,  Lord  Scatterbrain,  true  to  his  original  practice,  was 
author  of  all. 

Nevertheless,  he  and  his  party,  soused  over  head  and 
ears  as  they  were,  took  the  thing  in  good  humor,  which 
was  unbroken  even  by  the  irrepressible  laughter  which  es- 
caped from  Edward  and  Fanny,  as  they  approached  and 
kindly  offered  assistance.  An  immediate  removal  to  the 
neighboring  cottage  on  Dinas  Island  was  recommended, 
particularly  as  Lady  Scatterbrain  was  in  a delicate  situa- 
tion, as  well,  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Durfy,  who,  with  her  dear 
Tom,  had  joined  Lord  Scatterbrain's  party  of  pleasure. 

On  reaching  the  cottage,  sufficient  change  of  clothes  was 
obtained  to  prevent  evil  consequences  from  the  ducking. 
This,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  might  not  have  been 
easy  for  so  many;  but,  fortunately,  Lord  Scatterbrain  had 
ordered  a complete  dinner  from  the  hotel  to  be  served  in 
the  cottage,  and  some  of  the  assistants  from  the  Victoria, 
who  were  necessarily  present,  helped  to  dress  more  than 
the  dinner.  What  between  cook-maids  and  waiters,  the 
care-taker  of  the  cottage  and  the  boatman,  bodies  and 
skirts,  jackets  and  other  conveniences,  enabled  the  party 
to  sit  down  to  dinner  in  company,  until  fire  could  mend 
the  mistake  of  his  lordship.  Edward  and  Fanny  courteously 
joined  the  party;  and  the  honor  of  their  company  was  sensi- 
bly felt  by  Andy  and  Oonah,  who  would  have  borne  a duck- 
ing a day  for  the  honor  of  having  Fanny  and  Edward  as 
their  guests.  Oonah  was  by  nature  a nice  creature,  and 
adapted  herself  to  her  elevated  position  with  a modest  ease 
that  was  surprising.  Even  Andy  was  by  this  time  able  to 
conduct  himself  tolerably  well  at  table — only  on  that  par- 
ticular day  he  did  make  a mistake;  for  when  salmon 
(Which  is  served  at  Kiiiarncy  in  all  sorts  of  variety)  made 
its  appearance  for  the  first  time  in  the  novel  form  “ en 
papiliote”  Andy  ate  paper  and  all.  He  refused  a second 
cutlet,  however,  saving  he  “ thought  the  skin  tough , ” The 


&AXDY  AXBY. 


489 


party,  however,  passed  off  mirthfully,  the  very  accident 
helping  the  fun;  for,  instead  of  any  one  being  called  by 
name,  the  “ lady  in  the  jacket,”  or  the  “ gentleman  in 
the  bed-gown,**  were  the  terms  of  address;  and,  after  a 
merrily  spent  evening,  the  beds  of  the  Victoria  gave  sleep 
and  pleasing  dreams  to  the  sojourners  of  Killarney. 

Kind  reader!  the  shortening  space  we  have  prescribed  to 
our  volume  warns  us  we  must  draw  our  story  to  an  end. 
Nine  months  after  this  Killarney  excursion.  Lord  Scatter- 
brain met  Lick  Dawson  near  Mount  Eskar,  where  Lord 
Scatterbrain  had  ridden  to  make  certain  inquiries  about 
Mrs.  O' Connor's  health.  Dick  wore  a smiling  counte- 
nance, and  to  Andy's  inquiry  answered,  “All  right,  and 
doing  as  well  as  can  be  expected.” 

Lord  Scatterbrain,  wishing  to  know  whether  it  was  a boy 
or  a girl,  made  the  inquiry  in  the  true  spirit  of  Andyism 
— “ Tell  me,  Misther  Dawson,  are  you  an  uncle  or  an 
aunt  ?” 

Andy's  mother  died  soon  after  of  the  cold  caught  by  her 
ducking.  On  her  death-bed  she  called  Oonah  to  her,  and 
said,  “ I leave  you  this  quilt,  alanna — 'tis  worth  more  than 
it  appears.  The  hundred-pound  notes  Andy  gave  me  I 
quilted  into  the  lining,  so  that  if  I lived  poor  all  my  life 
till  lately,  I died  under  a quilt  of  bank-notes,  anyhow.” 

Uncle  Bob  was  gathered  to  his  fathers  also,  and  left  the 
bulk  of  his  property  to  Augusta,  so  that  Furlong  had  to 
regret  his  contemptible  conduct  in  rejecting  her  hand. 
Augusta  indulged  in  a spite  to  all  mankind  for  the  future, 
enjoying  her  dogs  and  her  independence,  and  defying 
Hymen  and  hydrophobia  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

Gusty  went  on  profiting  by  the  early  care  of  Edward 
O'Connor,  whose  friendship  was  ever  his  dearest  possession; 
and  Ratty,  always  wild,  expressed  a desire  for  leading  a 
life  of  enterprise.  As  they  are  both  “ Irish  heirs,''  as  well 
as  Lord  Scatterbain,  and  heirs  under  very  different  circum- 
stances, it  is  not  improbable  that  in  our  future  “ accounts '' 
something  may  yet  be  heard  of  them,  and  the  grateful 
author  once  more  meet  his  kind  readers. 


THE  EHD. 


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BOSTON  COLLEGE 


